


Let Us Become Perilous

by foppishaplomb



Category: Darkwing Duck (Cartoon)
Genre: M/M, Some references to death and bullying, nothing worse than the show
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-02 12:17:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 22,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14544561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foppishaplomb/pseuds/foppishaplomb
Summary: A selection of Darkwing Duck drabbles, hopefully aged like a fine wine.





	1. Father's Day (Gen, slight Darkwing/Launchpad)

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote these when i was like 16, but i remember how desperate i used to be for darkwing duck slash, so i'll post them despite my embarrassment for anyone else out there who needs darkwing duck to kiss a bunch of boys. i'm putting everything in one fic because i don't want to flood the tag with shit i wrote in 2010, even if i did edit it.  
> mostly DW/LP, a little bit of DW/Megavolt and gen. sometimes includes the comic canon, sometimes not.

Father's Day was not a holiday that Gosalyn had looked forward to in a long time.

But here it was, the third Sunday of June, and she had made plans. No one made her. In fact, she seriously doubted her dad would have even remembered Father's Day existed if she hadn't reminded him that morning. At least, once he demanded an explanation for being woken up. She used her favorite technique, too: launching herself onto his bed, a method that roused even Darkwing Duck, the terror that steadfastly refused to flap in the morning. He'd probably only gotten home a few hours earlier, but his wonky sleep schedule wasn't going to stop her from wishing him a happy Father's Day.

He was surprised. It made Gosalyn smile.

He really shouldn't have been, of course. She had been calling him “Dad” for long enough that it seemed only natural. Honker was spending time with  _his_ dad today, so why should hers be any different? She hadn't thought very hard about including Launchpad, either. There was no such thing as a Father's Sidekick's Day, and he was her parent, too. It only seemed natural to celebrate both of them.

Gosalyn had more trouble deciding what to do for the day, and more specifically, what to do that wouldn't get her grounded. She would have made them breakfast in bed if she hadn't been banned from touching the stove. If you asked her, her dad had been overreacting—it wasn't like she had engulfed the  _whole_ house in flames—but as it stood, she had to settle for cards and quality time. And if that meant dragging her dad to the amusement park and then a movie, then he would have a good time even if Gosalyn had to make him enjoy himself.

Luckily, he wasn't difficult. He even seemed to have fun, even though it turned out despite a career made up of death-defying feats and having Launchpad for a pilot, roller coasters made him sick to his stomach, something Gosalyn filed away for future teasing. Launchpad, of course, loved amusement parks, though she and Drake had to rescue him from the House of Mirrors. And only  _one_ bad guy made trouble the whole day, and Darkwing even let her help dispose of them. That she didn't really give him a choice was purely incidental.

When all that was left was the movie, she sat between them in the topmost row, a bucket of popcorn on her lap, a half-eaten chocolate bar in her hand, and a soda in one arm rest, a box of candies in the other. In the seat next to her, Launchpad had a similar hoard. From her other side, Drake reached over and grabbed a handful of popcorn.

“Hey,” Gosalyn protested through a mouth full of chocolate. “I'm eatingthat!”

“That and the entire concession stand,” Drake replied, popping a single piece in his mouth. What was supposed to be  _pointedly—_ use your manners, young lady!—came across as  _daintily_ , but Gosalyn didn't notice either way.

“I'm a growing girl, Dad, I need nutrition!” She stuffed a fistful of the popcorn in with the chocolate, adding a barely-comprehensible “Popcorn's a vegetable, right?”

“It's the closest you'll ever eat,” said Drake. “I just wish you'd get your 'nutrition' someplace without a five-hundred-percent markup. I hope it's filling. Between you and Launchpad McSnack here, I think you've used up my grocery budget for the month.”

Launchpad at least swallowed before he argued. “I paid for your soda, DW!”

“You're so very generous,” said Drake, sarcasm thick as the gum beneath the seats.

“Hey, I don't mind splurging on a holiday!”

Drake put his hand to his forehead and sighed and Launchpad grinned obliviously. Gosalyn rolled her eyes at them both, but when the lights dimmed and the movie started, she was smiling through the junk food.

 

Gosalyn missed her grandpa sometimes.

She had moved on, more or less. She was a tough kid and she knew better than to let grief stop her life short. But they had been close, very close—almost as close as she and her dad were now.

You couldn't lose someone like that without missing them, no matter how much time goes by.

In the orphanage, Father's Day and Mother's Day had been, for obvious reasons, a sad affair. The kids who remembered their parents spent the day mourning them, the kids who didn't spent it wishing they could. Gosalyn couldn't, but she had someone else to think of. She'd always used those days to remember her grandpa.

She still missed him.

But she  _had_ a father to appreciate now. Two of them, in fact. That was far too many fathers of the present to spend the day thinking about the past.

It had been a long time since Gosalyn had spent a Father's Day having fun.

 

After the movie, they ate outside at Hamburger Hippo, Gosalyn and Launchpad's choice, of course, and on Drake's dime. They sat together at the far end of the bar while the sky above grew dark.

“I don't know how you guys can still be hungry,” Drake grumbled, fiddling with the tab on his coffee's plastic lid. “You only ate twice your weight in popcorn.”

“I've alwaysgot room for hamburgers,” said Launchpad, gently taking the cup and opening it for him. “Heh, and cheeseburgers, and fries, and—”

“I noticed,LP. I doremember stopping for burger each and every night on patrol.”

“Don't listen to him, Launchpad,” Gosalyn told the pilot between bites of cheeseburger. “He's just mad 'cause he's a pushover.”

“What was that?” Drake scoffed. “Please.Iwear the pants in this house! Ask anyone.”

“Sure you do, Dad. And Tank is the sensitive Muddlefoot.”

“Ha-ha, very funny.” Drake made a face at her, then reached over and ruffled her hair. “Do you talk back like this to your teachers, too?”

“It's summer, Dad. You can't expect me to remember that far back.”

“Ah, right. The unfathomable span of a week and a half.”

“Ancient history,” said Gosalyn, gesturing expansively with a fry.

“Personally, I'm just counting the days till I don't wake up to a hockey game in my living room every morning.”

“But DW,” said Launchpad, “You wake up in the afternoon, and Gosalyn'shomethen.”

Drake just made another face.

 

They walked home through the suburbs, bickering and teasing, laughing. Being a family. This was nothing like Father's Day at the orphanage. Gosalyn loved her grandpa, but it wasn't even like a day with him. Drake and Launchpad weren't much like anyone.

That wasn't news to anyone, obviously. A superhero with an ego bigger Duckburg and an ace pilot who couldn't land weren't exactly going to blend in with the crowd. That didn't make it any less true. She wondered what her grandpa would have thought of them.

There was a lull in the conversation. Gosalyn's walk slowed. When she lagged behind the adults, Drake and Launchpad looked back at her, confused. “What's up, Gos?” asked Launchpad.

“Are you all right?” said Drake.

“I was just thinking...” She thought maybe Grandpa would love them, too. But Gosalyn knew  _she_  did.

“After Grandpa died, I didn't have anybody left in the whole world.” She hadn't realized she'd stopped walking, and she caught up now, stopping in front of Drake. “I couldn't even find somebody to adopt me. Sometimes I thought he was the only real family I'd ever have. I was just thinking I was happy.” She pulled her dad close, hugging him tight. “Y'know, 'cause I was wrong.”

“Gosalyn...” Drake fumbled for words.

Gosalyn laughed and hugged him again, then Launchpad too, twice. “You're the best dads anybody could ever have,” she said.

“I love you,” Drake said, obviously unsure of what else  _to_ say.

“Thanks, Gos,” said Launchpad, voice catching and eyes shining.

She took their hands. Launchpad's was warm and Drake's was freezing, but those were her dads. One was big and one was small, one was goofy and one was irritable. They weren't normal, they were different, but they were hers.

“C'mon, let's go home,” Gosalyn told them. That was enough sappy stuff. “I still gotta beat your butts at Whiffle Boy.”

She saw Drake hesitate, but then he squeezed her hand tight and smiled back. “Don't think your kissing up means I'll go easy on you, young lady. Your confidence will be your undoing.”

“Just leave me outta this one,” Launchpad said, grinning. “I knowGos is the Whiffle Master. I'm not gonna argue.”

“See, Dad? You oughta listen to Launchpad more. He knows what he's saying.”

“Pffft. You're talking about our Launchpad? Maybe all those horror movies have warped your brains.”

What good had normal ever done her, anyway?


	2. Something Old (Darkwing/Megavolt)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Megavolt couldn't understand it.

 Megavolt couldn't understand it.

He was a criminal mastermind, an astoundingly gifted inventor, well-renowned in the supervillain and scientific community—or he would be, if those babies at the Nobel Prizes didn't get so irrationally upset over a teensey little doomsday weapon now and then—a mathematical whiz, and the best electronic expert this side of... well, anywhere, if he did say so himself. He even dabbled in political science, what with the neverending plight of his beloved lightbulbs. Point was, Megavolt considered himself to be a smart guy. He would go so far as to say a  _very_  smart guy. A genius, even. The  _ne plus ultra_ of human intellect.

But he couldn't wrap his mind around this.

Megavolt didn't know exactly when he first realized Darkwing wasn't there. It wasn't like seeing him was ever an occasion he looked forward to, and in fact he had been cheerfully going about his business, probably overjoyed at the sudden lack of resistance. But he couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing _._ Something important. Something purple.

It had been a small step from there. Megavolt's lightning-charged brain didn't always cooperate with him, but he knew how Darkwing Duck worked. Years of repetition had worn a groove deep in even his memory. Darkwing Duck was always there. Sometimes he lost his confidence, but he always came back and then he was always there again. It was annoying. Frustrating. Inevitable. And then he wasn't anymore.

Megavolt could say with pride that he knew his way around a calculator, and this didn't add up. There had to be something wrong in that pretentious jerk's head, because this sort of thing didn't happen. Megavolt hadn't exactly been conducting a detailed study while he made his escape from Starducks, but, well... everything had seemed fine then.

But after that fight, it was always those new CrimeBot things that tried to stop him, never Darkwing. Megavolt could usually short-circuit them, but his escapes were starting to get closer and closer. The 'bots were getting better. And Megavolt was getting distracted. He didn't know where Quackerjack was—he lacked the advantage over robots that electrical powers gave, so he might have gotten himself arrested already. The city was starting to get plastered in logos for some new company Megavolt had never heard of before. More and more CrimeBots appeared to hound him with every alarm he set off.

And no matter how blatantly Megavolt committed his crimes, how little he hid what he was doing, Darkwing Duck never, ever showed up.

It's not like he  _cared_ that Dipwing had apparently given up the hero game. Heck, it would make hislife a whole lot easier. The guy was never really cut out for it anyway, at least not with such strong and brilliant and handsome competition. That lucky streak of his could only last him so long... okay, okay, maybe a decade or so at this point, but it was bound to run out soon. It was probably for the best that Dorkwing had cut things off himself before he was, justifiably, fried to crispy duck takeout by a certain misunderstood genius. And Megavolt couldn't even  _begin_ to tell you how great it was to have no loudmouthed, self-aggrandizing, egotistical ducks with bad fashion sense muddling up his plans all the time.

The positives were certainly outweighing the negatives in this sudden disappearance of the not-so-late, not-so-great Darkwing Drip. If there were any negatives at all, which there weren't. All right, maybe the CrimeBots were annoying—really annoying—but he figured after years of terror that yaps in the night, anything else was going to come as a welcome relief purely by default.

It was only... once Megavolt noticed, he couldn't stop noticing. Darkwing was just—gone.

He didn't even sayanything. He'd just left.

Common courtesy, is all. Didn't your archnemesis at least deserve a  _card?_

 

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

It was a cliché so trite he'd never even heard Darkwing Duck use it--and he was fairly sure  _that_  guy had learned to speak from old comic books--but Megavolt felt there was no other word to describe it. That he was dwelling on his word use at all was unsettling: there were far more important things to think about, usually. But now there was nothing. Silence, except for the murmuring of far-off voices and the clack of computer keys and buzz of florescent lights. That what was missing: the lights were only buzzing, free of the voices that usually called out to him, chatted with him and kept him company while he schemed, or, lately, typed up drudge work. Nothing.

Megavolt hated when they were quiet.

It used to be that that was okay. It gave him some time to think clearer, to polish off the final details of his plots or come up with a great insult for Darkwing Duck or a way to get Quackerjack to do what Megavolt wanted for once. It wasn't okay anymore. In fact, it was  _excruciating._

The difference was, things were interesting then. There was subjugation to end, inventions to build, fellow villains to rob banks with, a hero to fight. Now the only thing to do was forms. And paperwork. And tedious, menial task after tedious task after tedious task staring at a glowing screen for hours on end that he wasn't even allowed to equip with the ability to transfer electrical currents into energy beings, with nothing to distract him from the utter banality but the crackling of electricity through his brain. Without it, he couldn't take it.

He didn't even try to work. He just stared at the computer screen, the cursor blinking steadily where the abandoned document ended. His name was on it, somewhere.  _Elmo Sputterspark._ Well, supposedly his. He called himself that since... since...?  _Oh_ \--since that prom night, but for the first time in eleven years he wasn't Megavolt anymore. He wasn't a brilliant criminal mind, a dashing savior of the lightbulb people. He was just... some guy.  He was pretty sure even before he got his powers--the time was fuzzy, but every once in awhile he could remember it like it was yesterday which was by all accounts equally as variable--he hadn't been normal. He'd been a genius as a teenager, a supervillain as an adult. Now he was an office worker. He was wearing a  _tie._  A clip-on.

At some point the screensaver had kicked in without Megavolt's notice, but he watched it go into power save mode, blinking from a blank white screen to a black one. He continued to watch it. He could see his reflection in it, the reflection of the reflection in the lenses of his goggles, and so on and so forth until he got dizzy and had to look away. He moved his gaze to the side and caught upon the reflection of his cubicle mate--what was his name...? Drake something.

Drake Mallard.

It came to him startlingly quickly. Drake Mallard, Drake Mallard, Drake Mallard. He felt like it had some sort of significance, something important nagging at him he couldn't grasp.He didn't know why. He didn't care about some random citizen, working diligently at his computer like the peon he was. Drake Mallard knew nothing of what Megavolt was before this, how the mighty had fallen. Drake Mallard was nothing, a nobody, a pointless little nebbishy know-nothing who always got in his way and pushed his buttons in a way hardly anyone else did. Drake Mallardseemed so... so familiar.

Megavolt whirled around to face his back, watching him so hard he could have burned holes in him. He could feel himself growing hot with building electricity and anger, at himself for not being able to figure out whatit  _was_ about Drake Mallard, and Mallard for... for  _being_  so familiar. He squinted at that laughable little build and that stupid huge beak and ridiculous puffs of feathers on the sides of his face and those  _eyes,_  those big dumb-looking eyes that infuriated him and he could  _swear_ had  _seen. Some. Where. Be. Fore._

Then Mallard blinked and broke out of his monotony-induced trance, noticing Megavolt in the reflection of his computer screen for the first time. He raised an eyebrow, gave him a look that rang so many bells within Megavolt that he could have set up his own branch of the Salvation Army, and Megavolt  _knew._

"You're  _Darkwing Duck!_ " he shouted, grabbing the duck by his shirt and slamming him into the side of the desk.

Drake's expression melted into panic. "N-no!  _No_. I'm not!"

"You  _were,"_ Megavolt hissed, his voice hitting a pitch so screeching it actually looped around to quiet. "I know it! You're Darkwing Duck!" The frantic Drake started to protest, but Megavolt cut him off. "You are!" The memories were flowing back now, years and years of fights and quips and clashes, a million different encounters and conversations and arguments and even team-ups, always, from his early days of villainy to his glory days, even in  _high school,_ before he was Megavolt, if he strained himself he could remember that name and that face and that voice, never a month going by for years without seeing that suit, that mask, that  _face,_  the same short duck now stammering in front of him.

In a tie.

"Where's... where's your costume?" His grip on the sweater vest loosened, he could feel the extra electricity coursing through him drain away. "You can't--you don't even have that ridiculous hat." Drake didn't answer. "Aren't you going to tell me you'll stop my evil schemes? Call me an electromagnetic evildoer or a sparking scofflaw, or say you're the locker the bully stuffs you into or the thank-you note you never recieve or  _something?_ " He didn't even look at Megavolt. He stared at the ground, and even Megavolt who never noticed things could tell that he looked tired, so tired.

"I'm not Darkwing Duck."

"But... I..." Megavolt trailed off.

"No."

Megavolt let him go. They both turned back to their work, and Drake didn't say another word for the rest of their shift. In a few hours Megavolt couldn't remember exactly what happened, but he recalled the feeling clearly enough.

The old days were a long ways away.


	3. One Normal Night (Darkwing/Megavolt)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drake didn't have time for this.

Drake didn't have time for this.

He dumped his groceries into an empty cart and searched frantically for anything resembling a phone booth. He settled on the bathrooms, grabbed the first open stall and simply tried not to touch anything. Why did these things always have to happen at the most inopportune times? He yanked his shirt over his head both layers at a time, throwing the costume on as quickly as he could. This was supposed to be  _quick._ He just ran out to get some ingredients for dinner. He only brought his costume along because he always kept it with him—he wasn't supposed to see any supervillains or stop any evil plans for world domination during the trip. He could do that tomorrow. Tonight Mrs. Cavanaugh was coming over and he didn't have  _time._

Drake hastily folded up his civilian clothes and shoved them into that area inside his jacket where there seemed to be space for everything. She was coming from the orphanage to check up on Gosalyn, to make sure for herself that she was happy and well-cared for. He pushed open the stall door and practically vaulted out. He needed to make a good impression, and  _not being there_ would be the worst impression humanly possible.

A cloud of blue smoke appeared in the frozen goods aisle. Megavolt looked up from his examination of the freezer lights and rolled his eyes. “Ohh,  _every_ time,” he complained to the florescent bulbs. “What's that, my darlings? ...Oh, just some loser in a bad suit who just keeps following me around and ruining all my fun, that's all.”

“Iamtheterrorthatflapsinthenight,” came Darkwing's voice, unusually fast, to the point where if Megavolt hadn't heard this a million times before he probably wouldn't have been able to understand him.“Iamthesomething, that.. whatever, I am the busy man who has other things to do,  _I am Darkwing Duck_ —now whatever it is you're doing, Megavolt, just stop it, all right?!”

“What's up with you?” Megavolt snorted. “Late for a date?”

“The issue of what is up with me, if there is indeed anything, is none of your concern, you felonious filament,” said Darkwing, still speaking quickly. He pulled out his gas gun and pointed it at the electrified rodent. “Give in now before I must resort to lethal force.”

“Oooh, I'm so scared. Dipwing Duck had too much coffee and now he's gonna knock my lights out with his little toy gun.” Megavolt pulled out his own gun and shot a few bolts of electricity at Darkwing's feet, which he dodged easily.

“Alright, okay, okay, maybe lethal force is pushing it, but let's make this one quick, got it?”

“Sure, Darkwing, I can electrocute you fast!” Megavolt tackled him, knocking the duck to the ground. Darkwing was too distracted for banter while they grappled about, but the silence was soon cut short when Megavolt managed to pin him to the floor. “Ha! Got you down, duck. Without you to bother me, I'll be able to—why, I could save every lightbulb in St. Canard in one night!”

“More stealing  _tonight?_ ” Darkwing repeated, his eyes wide. With a sudden burst of energy he pushed Megavolt off of him and against the plexiglass freezer doors behind them.

“Hey, lay off! That's cold...”

“Now you listen to me, Sparky,” Darkwing hissed, gripping the villain's arms with a strength Megavolt had no idea he was capable of, and he was too surprised to protest the nickname. “There will be no stealingtonight! No villainy! Nothing!”

Megavolt, already over his shock, scoffed. “Pfft, and why should I listen to you, do-gooder?”

“Because—because...” It was times like this Darkwing really wondered about his general no-killing rule. “I'll...” He gave up on coming up with an excuse and just put his face close to Megavolt's, eyes sharply narrowed. “Megavolt... we've known each other a long time, haven't we?”

“Uh... well...” Megavolt shifted uncomfortably, unused to such seriousness and intimacy.

“Yes! The answer is  _yes!_ ” Darkwing snapped. He stopped himself and took a deep breath. “You remember high school prom?” he prompted. “Your first crime? I was there. I know you have trouble with this sort of thing, and not that I'm not just as young and sprightly as I used to be, but that's  _awhile,_ Megsey. In all this time, have I ever done anything to _you?_ ”

“We'll... I dunno....” He thought about it, the prongs on his head glowing softly with the effort. “There was all that foiling of my evil schemes.”

“Besides that—”

“Oh, and the short-circuiting me all the time.” Megavolt started to tick off offenses on his fingers. “And the hindering me in my quest to end the subjugation of the electrical appliances of St. Canard, and shooting your stupid gas gun in my face, and constantly throwing me in jail, and calling me names, like 'Sparky'... 'fraudulent photovoltaic felon,' 'cacodemonic cathode'... oh, or, or—”

“Well, yeah,” Darkwing admitted, “But you were breaking the law! It's my job to—” He shook his head, getting ahold of himself.“Look, never mind. Have I ever  _asked_ anything of you? For two archenemies forever locked in an endless game of cat and mouse, have I not always been a kind, worthy foe?”

“Huh... Refer back to figure F: constant insults. For example—”

“Enough with the names already! The point is, I need you to do one thingfor me, Megavolt. Just one!” Megavolt merely looked at him, but Darkwing soldiered on. “Can you do this for me, Megavolt? Onenight, without stealing any power generators or kidnapping any electric company executives or going on any city-wide lightbulb-snatching sprees?” He swallowed hard, forcing the last word out through gritted teeth: “ _Please?_ ”

Megavolt stared, looking even more shocked than usual. “Are you sure you're the right Darkwing Duck?”

_“Megavolt!”_

He threw up his hands up defensively. “Okay, okay!”

Darkwing finally let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. “I'll take what I can get. I'll be holding you to that, Spar—er, Megavolt.” If only he'd actually stick to it, but it was better than nothing. “I never thought I'd be saying this, but... I... ugh...” He could practically _feel_ his pride slinking off into a corner with its tail between its legs. “...Thanks.” His watch beeped, and he jumped and let Megavolt go, starting to run off, muttering to himself. “Oh,  _no,_ no, I'm gonna be late—disaster waiting to happen or not, Launchpad better've started dinner already—I knew this would happen, these things always happen to me...”

“Alright... o-okay then! See you later.” Megavolt began to turn and leave, but suddenly remembered this was his arch-nemesis he was talking to here. He whirled around, shaking his fist, and shouted after him. “But just remember it's not for  _you,_ duck!I... uh, I wasn't gonna do any crimes tonight anyway! You just got lucky!”

Megavolt wasn't sure if Darkwing did or didn't make a sort of shrug, but then he was already turning the corner and gone. “I really hate that guy,” he told the lightbulbs, looping his fingers through his belt and starting back to his tower without stealing a thing.


	4. Fireworks (Gen, slight DW/LP)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drake had never known a picnic table could be so interesting.

Drake had never known a picnic table could be so interesting.

The grain of the wood, the shine of the varnish, the folds of the checkered table cloth... the tiny flowers decorating the dishes it held, the pattern adorning the paper napkins. The fascinating make-up of potato salad, the different shapes and sizes of potato chips, the little burnt bits crumbling off the edges of the burgers. It was all so... Dull. Painfully, horribly dull, but it was better than listening to Herb Muddlefoot talk.

“So I tell the guy, 'Ya might get away with that if ya were dealin' with  _Rubber Drake,_ but this right here is a  _Quackerware_  product, and we're prouder'n' that around here!' Hey, you done with that burger there, Drakerooni?”

“Hmm? What?” Drake looked up from his intense study of a plastic fork. “Oh. Yeah, sure, Herb.”

“Thanks, spud!” He picked up Drake's plate, setting it on top of his own. “Anyhoo, then the guy says to me...”

“Oh, Herb dear!” Binkie interrupted, coming up behind her husband. Never had Drake been so grateful for the sound of her piercing sugar-sweet voice. “Sorry to cut you short, dear, but it's getting dark. The fireworks are about to start.”

“Oh, boy! How 'bout that, Drakester?” Herb left Drake slumping at the table in overwhelming relief, overcome with the knowledge that this torture would soon end. His solitude would not last long.

“Dad!” came his daughter's voice. “What are you doing? Come out into the front yard, they're gonna start soon!”

“Don't care. After an entire evening spent with Muddlefoots,nothing is going to amaze me more than sweet silence. Why am I here? Couldn't we have watched them from  _our_ house?”

“It's the fourth of July, Dad. You gotta have a barbecue! Hot dogs and hamburgers and firecrackers, and you can't cook! Besides, Honker needed supervision so he wouldn't spend the whole day reading history or something.”

“Be that as it may—wait, firecrackers? Young lady, what have you been—whatever, never mind. We'll talk about this later. Look, Launchpad could've made something...” Drake paused, then groaned, rubbing his temples. “Ugh, I've spent so long listening to Herb I've started talking crazy too.”

“Then you need the sound of high-end explosives to drown his voice out! Come on.” Gosalyn gripped his arm and more or less pulled him from the picnic table, dragging him out to the Muddlefoots' front yard without much accepting any of his input, which consisted mostly of sarcastic complaints. Launchpad was already out there on a blanket laid across the grass. She half-led, half-pushed him into sitting next to him, then settled beside him, grinning sweetly.

“You're incorrigible,” Drake said, but she probably didn't hear him. Right then the first fireworks whistled into the sky, exploding seconds after each other in a dull roar.

Instinctively, Drake tensed. He knew it was just fireworks, but spend enough time fighting insane supervillains with a predilection for bombs and you would flinch at explosions too.

Launchpad must have felt the movement. He lay his hand on his shoulder, pulling him close in a friendly squeeze. Drake glanced at him, only to see him looking down on him with a smile. “Hi,” he said flatly. “I hope you're happy. Those coconut burgers better have been worth it.”

Launchpad laughed and leaned back, his arm still around Drake's shoulders. The mallard rolled his eyes. Fireworks weren't going to impress Darkwing Duck, especially not a two-bit town-run show.

But he leaned against his sidekick to better see the sky anyway, pulling Gosalyn closer into his arms. It was nice that he could admire the explosions for once instead of having to run away from them. Theywere... pretty. Sandwiched between his family like that with the harmless pyrotechnics dancing across the sky, and Herb and Binkie all the way on the other side of the yard and drowned out by the noise, he almost thought that it was worth the Muddlefoot barbecue.

He leaned closer to Launchpad, the better to see.  _Almost_.


	5. Tia (Darkwing/Launchpad)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The clone hadn't worked. It melted down into a disgusting, gooey mass after only a few days of functioning. Apparently the technology wasn't designed for use on Earthlings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tia is the alien queen from "U.F. Foe," the one who wanted to marry LP.

The clone hadn't worked. It melted down into a disgusting, gooey mass after only a few days of functioning. Apparently the technology wasn't designed for use on Earthlings.

Her retainers seemed to feel cheated, but Tia didn't. Just sad. She had been relieved and overjoyed when she heard that cheerful voice again, but she guessed she probably would have wanted the  _real_ Launchpad anyway. The clone may have looked and sounded and acted like him, but she would have known he wasn't the same. Clones were a normal part of life, but this clone had never shared  _that_ day with her. Her only day on Earth and the day she spent with Launchpad was one of her most cherished memories. She'd never had more fun since—well, she hadn't even known what fun wasbefore then.

Now it seemed like a wasted opportunity. Tia was certain that if only she had proposed then, Launchpad would have accepted. Now his flimsy Earth memory was dulled by time and the interference of other people, and he obviously didn't really recall what that day had been like. If he did, he too would have done anything for more days like it. Of course, they were both children then, and neither of their cultures approved of such things. If Tia was honest with herself, she had to admit that she didn't think that would have been a good idea either. But at least he would have said yes then.

She knew why, too. It was because he wouldn't have met Darkwing yet.

She should be grateful to him. He and Gosalyn had uncovered Bleeb's plot, saved the galaxy, saved her, saved Launchpad. And she was, really. It was just... he was the _reason._  Launchpad had even said so. He was sad about leaving the girl, and his family and friends and home and life, but he was willing to, if reluctantly. Until it came to the sarcastic Earthling in the flashy clothes, that purple-caped interloper who was suspicious and dour and disapproving while Launchpad was trusting and good-humored, and he and the child were what first led Launchpad to be doubtful. Yes, Darkwing had been right about Bleeb, but... it wasn't fair.It was Launchpad's devotion to  _him_ that made him stay on Earth.

Tia realized they had only spent one day together when they were children, and she could see how it might seem a little rushed to Launchpad and his friends, but they had  _shared_ something, something transcended the restrictions of time and space and planet. He taught her how to laugh. She taught him to like flying. What else did they need to be sure?

What did Darkwing have that could compare to that? A sardonic disposition and a hat silly even by Earth standards?

 _“Aw, gee, Tia... it takes more than_ _fun_   _to make an oompah work.”_

Maybe he was only saying that because he didn't have any fun at all with a cagey little wet blanket like Darkwing. He would have had it with Tia, so much that he would understand that it really was all they needed to be together. The galaxy needed it too. More than “DW” did.

She knew she was being irrational, but it was hard to feel guilty because you were upset about losing the love of your life and your only back-up plan was sloshing around in the recycling bin. Then again, there was always the ship's viewscreen waiting for her.

She hadn't used it often, because it seemed like an invasion of privacy, but it was how they had found Launchpad in the first place. It was already tuned to him. Maybe if she found him again, she could persuade him. Maybe if she could understand why he said no, she could figure out how to convince him...

Eventually she made a decision. She was determined this time, ready for anything—and from the moment she turned the screen on, she knew it was a lost cause.

He was in their little Earth vehicle with his 'family,' driving back from the vacation she and her crew had interrupted. Darkwing was dressed differently, less showy and with the hat and mask gone, but she could tell it was him even before he raised an eyebrow in that way that infuriated Bleeb so. Gosalyn, the little girl, was asleep on the backseat, the two adults holding a conversation while they drove. The viewscreen had bad sound, but Tia didn't care about the words. All she was interested in was what she saw in the glances he threw at Darkwing each and every time he had chance to look away from the road.

The pilot was an Earthling, but she couldn't use that to write away what she could see there, not only because their species' body languages were almost identical. She recognized the way he looked at Darkwing. She had watched the recordings of her time with Launchpad and she knew what she looked like when she was with him. She also knew it from experience, because even her own reserved society couldn't hide all traces of feelings.

But it was Launchpad, of course. He wasn't bound by these social mores—it was why she had fallen for him in the first place, and it had never been better displayed than here. Now that he was alone with Darkwing, he wasn't even trying to hide it. She could see his fondness in every move he made, in every word he said. It was loyalty. It was happiness. It was  _love._

Tia felt her heart sink. It didn't matter how hard she tried, Launchpad wasn't going to change his mind. She couldn't and the galaxy couldn't compete with that. Even Bleeb must have recognized it on some level, the way he knew he could use Darkwing to manipulate Launchpad immediately.

Then why, Tia ached to demand, Darkwing? Why couldn't  _he_  see it?

He was oblivious. His eyes were somewhere else entirely, he was speaking and gesturing without paying Launchpad the attention in kind. He seemed completely unaware of the constancy obvious in his sidekick's demeanor.

And yet...

Darkwing was guarded, more like her own people. There was no need to be around Launchpad—she herself had shed such fears—but for reasons that escaped Tia, he still clung to it. Still, after lifetime of picking up cues, the more she watched, the more she could see... caring, hidden behind cautious glances and unnecessary touches. He was a mess of worried devotion and distracted tenderness. Emotions had always fascinated Tia, and studying Darkwing's nervous affection could almost make her forgive him her loss. He was like an open book that tried so hard to be closed.

And then Launchpad made him smile, she saw with a twang, and the barriers were gone completely. When he laughed, she could see his love, too.

Tia didn't have that with Launchpad. She thought she loved him, but maybe she had only loved the way it felt to bewith him. What she wanted was to be able to laugh and have fun, and maybe she didn't need Launchpad to remind her galaxy of these things, since she didn't have a choice. He had taught her, and so she could teach them on her own. It was her job as Queen. She would miss Launchpad, and she was forever grateful to him, but perhaps she didn't need him to be happy after all. But it was clear that Darkwing did.

 _“...Besides—DW needs me._ ”

Apparently, Launchpad had been right all along.


	6. 50 Sentences (Darkwing/Launchpad)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One-sentence fics for randomized words, wherein 16-year-old-me decided to really go hard on the run-ons.

**1\. Crowd**

Darkwing dreamed about having crowds cheering for him, the entire world calling out his name—it had been his biggest, most personal desire for as long as he could remember, but, once in awhile, it turned out that just hearing Launchpad was enough.

**2\. Clothing**

It surprised Launchpad the first time he really noticed how the costume bagged around Drake's slender frame, but it didn't surprise him at all when his second thought was that he hoped Darkwing didn't notice himself.

**3\. Deriving**

It always made Darkwing feel a little worried when he was reminded that Launchpad had a life before now that he could go back to at any time—it made this all feel distressingly impermanent, and before Launchpad and Gosalyn, Darkwing had had none at all.

**4\. Yawn**

Drake was bored—very, very bored—each time he saw  _Pelican's Island_ : the characters were stock, the jokes fell flat, every line of the script created a thousand new plot holes, but it was Launchpad's favorite show, so he never changed the channel when it came on.

**5\. Beg**

Launchpad hadn't been too proud to beg for the job of sidekick (more accurately, he'd been too caught up in the moment not to), but he was so happy with the way things were that it seemed selfish to risk asking for even more.

**6\. Unwillingly**

When the gravity got switched off by mistake and Darkwing clung to Launchpad in lieu of anything connected to the ground, it was a pity the fate of the world was at stake, because he almost didn't want DW to figure out a way to turn it back on.

**7\. Weasel**

Darkwing got offended when the villain of the week called him a weasel, and found it infuriating when they turned it into a derisive nickname—“oh, that's nice, coming from a convicted criminal” - “make a bad  _duck_ pun, at least”—but he did some pretty aggravated glaring at his own side when he noticed Launchpad was smiling.

**8\. Key**

Drake could feel the new house key every time he put his hands into his pockets, and each time his fingers brushed against it he wondered simultaneously if he was going to regret this and if it was the smartest thing he'd ever done in his whole life.

**9\. Wedding**

“ _What?_ ” Drake asks Binkie, aghast.

**10\. Apologize**

“Is not making fun when he apologizes to pilot friend,” Grizzlykoff huffed, but he knew a sarcastic apology was the best he was going to get from Darkwing.

**11\. Gravitate**

“Why'd you want to meet Darkwing so bad, anyway, Launchpad?” Louie asks him—he only shrugs and says he's just glad he did.

**12\. Setting**

Launchpad loves his friends in Duckburg and is delighted to see them again, but the whole time he's there he keeps finding himself looking over for Drake, then being disappointed when he isn't there.

**13\. Noise**

The first time DW called him “ _sidekick”,_ that very moment it became Launchpad's new favorite word.

**14\. Passport**

“Hey, Launchpad, look at this,” Doofus says, handing him a newspaper folded to the page before the personal ads, “is 'Darkwing Duck' sorta like you or Gizmoduck?”

**15\. Needle**

When Launchpad's lucky scarf tears, he abandons it on the kitchen table dejectedly when he goes to bed, only to find it in the morning with the stitches messier but the cloth fully repaired—Drake denies any knowledge, but suggests that maybe elves switched from shoes to fabrics.

**16\. Familiarity**

Sometimes there are moments when Darkwing is scared and knows he's in over his head, but sometimes just having Launchpad there no matter where they are is enough for him to know it will keep turning out okay.

**17\. Duplicate**

Once after they face Negaduck, Darkwing won't talk for a long time, and when he finally says “Do me a favor, LP—if I ever turn into  _that_ , just kill me,” even though he tries to disguise it as a joke, Launchpad can tell he means it.

**18\. Wealth**

Darkwing thinks about asking why the richest duck in the world would hire a pilot who can't land, but then he remembers that the pilot is  _Launchpad,_ and just feels relieved that Scrooge McDuck was willing to give him up.

**19\. Cramp**  

Hiding in the trunk of a car meant there wasn't really very much room, but even though Launchpad's legs and back were going to be very sore tomorrow, he could feel Darkwing pressed against his chest and shivering with barely contained excitement, and he knew he cared about that more.

**20\. Four**

“Morgana wants to come to dinner tonight,” Drake says, and Launchpad fights the disappointment and manages to smile when Gosalyn asks if she's bringing Eek and Squeak.

**21\. Assessment**

He saw that Darkwing was small and hyperactive and loud, a little bad-tempered and not quite precisely how he described himself, but it didn't even occur to Launchpad to be disappointed—after all, he was still Darkwing Duck, and that meant he was still a  _hero._

**22\. Overtime**

He didn't get paid for this job, so it was only his sense of civic justice and possibly also his overwhelming obsession that caused Darkwing to work hours far longer than were probably healthy; it meant Launchpad worked overtime too, but he didn't miss having a regular salary—his pay now was so much better than money could ever be.

**23\. Guessing**

Even though nobody knew how he managed to get to where the smoke was half the time, “surprise” had a lot more to do with dealing with Darkwing than just him appearing out of nowhere in clouds of blue smoke.

**24\. Frame**

It's true that Darkwing can take an amazing amount of injuries even for someone three times his size, but sometimes it seems like he's just tempting fate.

**25\. Polynomial**

What he called “Darkwing Duck” in his mind was better than any person could ever be, “Drake” was worse, but at least “DW” was exactly what he  _was._

**26\. Sin**

Taking the leap from “working alone,” Darkwing hadn't had such a big personal crisis since he was still eighteen and he realized that vigilantism was a technically a crime.

**27\. Boss**

Drake wasn't really his boss, and it was certainly  _different_ from working for Mr. McDee, but only a few weeks into their relationship Launchpad was quickly deciding that he never wanted to fly a plane for anyone else ever again.

**28\. Soil**

Launchpad hadn't really been surprised when he found Drake asleep in the backyard garden, he just gently picked him and carried him inside: it wasn't the first time exhaustion had caught up with him before he could get to a bed.

**29\. Atrocity**

When Gosalyn told him about DarkWarrior Duck, it terrified Launchpad to think of DW turning into that—he couldn't imagine what the knowledge would do to Drake, but he got the feeling she wasn't going to tell him.

**30\. Abortion**

He didn't know if he could take the costume off now; he'd spent the past seven yearspretending Drake Mallard was dead, and now he was losing all of it, spiraling back in time to when he was worth nothing againt—then a voice came through the door, his new sidekick asking if he needed any help, and he remembered why he was doing this.

**31\. Eyes**

Launchpad has trouble looking Negaduck directly in the eyes, because it scares him to see that familiar face so filled with anger and hate.

**32\. Trick**

That Darkwing relied so heavily on trickery probably contributed to his reputation as a criminal, but he was good at it: tricking  _himself_  wasa little harder, but he was good enough that he could manage that, too, most of the time.

**33\. Definition**

Technically he knows he's not exactly what he makes himself out to be and technically he knows that Launchpad is a whole lot more than just his sidekick, but there are a whole lot of technicalities that Darkwing has learned to avoid till it's almost like it technically doesn't matter anymore.

**34\. Dominant**

“If he's the  _sidekick_ and _I'm_ the hero,” Darkwing muttered, staring into his cheap fast-food coffee moodily, “how come we _always_  stop for burgers even when I say no?”

**35\. Cosmology**

Launchpad knows that crimefighting is the center of Darkwing's universe, but he feels proud that he managed to edge his way in at all.

**36\. Regulation**

His hands shaking, Launchpad is having trouble unbuttoning the unconscious Darkwing's jacket—he has to take off the costume to take him to the hospital, and he's saying out loud “it's okay, DW, you're gonna be okay,”if onlyjust to reassure himself while he tries to force away the voice in his head telling him, _Again, he's done it_ again,  _how many more times can one person take this?_

**37\. Satire**

“Very  _funny,_ Gos,” says Drake flatly, but he's not tall enough to take the mistletoe down and Launchpad isn't moving to do anything, and Gosalyn's grinning at him and Honker's looking away, blushing, so he rolls his eyes and pecks Launchpad on the cheek, then yanks him by his scarf into the kitchen to finish the cookies, trying to ignore the fact that he face is suddenly getting inexplicably hot.

**38\. Closing**

He's stuck in a seedy bar undercover, it's dark and rough and he's in-character, but the place is filled with criminals who don't recognize him but he doesn't recognize them because the one they're looking for never comes, and the night goes on and on and he knows this was a a waste, but Launchpad is there warm and familiar beside him the whole time saying “maybe he'll come—there's still an hour before closing” in that way he has, and all Darkwing can think is he's glad he doesn't drink.

**39\. Satisfaction**

He's leaning against the pilot's side and mumbling something into his chest and Launchpad puts an arm around his waist to keep him from shifting too close to the tower's edge; he'll be annoyed that he fell asleep during lookout, but Launchpad isn't going to wake him for anything now.

**40\. Quieter**

Launchpad knows without him saying it that what he's going to do is dangerous and it might get him killed but it will save the world and that means he's got to do it, but he's not prepared when Darkwing stops to say in a hushed voice that he's the best the sidekick he could've ever asked for, and when he smiles before he leaves it takes everything Launchpad has not to grab him and tell him not to go.

**41\. Negotiation**

“If you don't stop to eat first before you chase F.O.W.L. halfway across the world,  _Dad,_  Launchpad won't fly you there—right, Launchpad?”

**42\. Depression**

Launchpad doesn't understand why Darkwing's confidence is so fragile, but sometimes he wishes more than anything that he could fix it.

**43\. Rub**

Launchpad always notices when Drake comes close to him, and no matter how often it happens he feels a secret rush of pleasure each and every time.

**44\. Root** (s)

When Drake and Gosalyn finally meet the McQuacks after an airshow in St. Canard, Launchpad is glad, if only a little confused, when his father reassures him “don't worry, son, we're proud of you for this, too.”

**45\. Potato**

“Well, Posy didn't work,” Bushroot tells Spike sadly, trying not to think jealously about Darkwing and his sidekick walking home together while he's all alone because of him.

**46\. Invention**

“I call it... 'The Thunderquack!'” – “I call it  _sensational!_ ” – it really was: if Darkwing had known Launchpad a little better, he might have kissed him.

**47\. Schedule**

“If you're going to be my sidekick, I hope you're okay with working nights.”

**48\. Escape**

When he was “Darkwing Duck”, he was free of being Drake Mallard—Launchpad was there for both, but DW didn't think too hard about why it didn't feel like that tied him down.

**49\. Epic**

“Okay—let's say, erm, _hypothetically,_ that there was an, um, a  _crimefighter,_  and, um... let's  _say,_ just for the sake of argument, that this crimefighter had a sidekick... and although the hero was the most daring and brave force of justice ever to strike fear into the hearts of lowly criminals across the world—still, he, er, was maybe just starting to notice these  _feelings_ that he didn't really get  _why_  he was feeling, and if through his incredible skills of deduction he finally recognized what they  _meant,_ he might... probably... because he was so  _fearless_ , of course, it would be silly to be afraid to say—what I'm trying to explain is, he wouldn't have any trouble telling his sidekick... that I— _he_... that maybe, only  _possibly—_ and hypothetically, remember—he thought he might... there was the slightest chance that the evidence said—I mean... the hero... to his sidekick... he, um... he... thought he might probably... love  _his_  sidekick... too.”

**50\. Installation**

As far as Darkwing was concerned, it was easy to sum up their relationship: at first it seemeds strange beyond description to have Launchpad by his side; soon it seemed indescribably strange  _not_ to have him there.

 

 


	7. First Kiss (Darkwing/Launchpad)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He only meant to knock him out of the way.

He only meant to knock him out of the way.

It had been a reflex. His friend was standing directly beneath the falling pillar, about to be crushed beneath it, and all Darkwing could see was the escaping Megavolt. Launchpad shouted for him, and when he still didn't notice, what else could he do but run forward and push him out of the way?

But their faces were so close as they fell, less than an inch apart, their bodies' heat already bridging the distance. He could feel the slender body through the baggy costume and the thought crossed his mind that it would be so easy to move forward, so obvious and simple, and he had been wanting this for so long, all he had to do was move forward a fraction of an inch and he could finally be done waiting—but no, _no,_ it wouldn't be _fair,_ not when Drake didn't want this—and it wasn't until it was too late that he realized he was doing it already, moving forward outside of his own control. Just as they hit the ground their lips were blending, and it felt so blissful, so dizzyingly warm and soft and lasting, that even in the mere second it lasted it took more effort than he had ever known he could make to pull himself away again.

Luckily the resounding 'boom' of the pillar hitting the ground was enough to snap him out of it quick enough, even if it was dull and muffled and barely there in his ears. And as soon as there was air between them the wamth and joy and fuzzy veil between him and the rest of the world dissipated, replaced with fear and cold and  _awareness._  It hit him what had just happened, what Drake must have realized, and what he didn't have the _right_  to but had done anyway... He stared down at Darkwing's shocked face and tried to think of something, anything, to say, an excuse, something to save this from ruining everything—

“Getting a little friendly tonight, huh, LP?” Darkwing said before he could, giving him a push that reminded Launchpad to get off of him. He laughed, and Launchpad didn't think he had ever felt so relieved in his entire life, and that he had never loved Darkwing  _more_ in all this time, just for laughing.

He moved aside, fumbling for something to say and chuckling nervously—“Yeah, uh, sorry, DW, it was the way we fell”—and Darkwing shrugged, brushing it aside with a gesture.

“Pfft, well, I guess it's your reward, playboy. Thanks for saving me, but I'd appreciate if next time you tried finding a way that was a little less intimate.”

Launchpad could manage a grin now, because everything was normal already and now he didn't have to wonder even if it weren't, if that single wonderful, perfect moment would have been worth it.

“Er, yeah,” Darkwing said, clearing his through. Launchpad had to be imagining the slight nervousness in his voice. “Alright—enough romantics, Launchpad. There's still a villain to catch. That crazed criminal circuit-head won't get away this time!” He leaped forward towards the exit, reaching into his jacket to pull out his gas gun. For once Launchpad was thankful for Darkwing's one-track mind. It was easy to get swept up in, and quick to bring things back to the way they were supposed to be. The closest thing to a lasting effect, despite what Launchpad felt for that solitary second, was that he found the happiness and thankfulness lasted the entire rest of the night.

 


	8. How 'Bout Another First Kiss (Darkwing/Megavolt)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I am the terror that flaps in the night! I am the shoelace in the bike spokes of crime. I am—”
> 
> “Would you leave me alone?!”

“I am the terror that flaps in the night! I am the shoelace in the bike spokes of crime. I am—”

“Would you leave me alone?!” Megavolt waved the gray-blue smoke out of his face. His shoulders strained against the seams of his costume—he was getting taller. He might need a new one soon. Luckily yellow jumpsuits had been cheap since the disco era finished winding down.

“You didn't let me finish,” the voice complained. As the smoke cleared, the figure began to take shape. Like Megavolt didn't already know who it was. Darkwing Duck, just like every other time he tried to break the law. Being a supervillain was a lot harder when an overzealous hero kept interrupting you all the time.

“Why do you keep following me?” he demanded. It had been almost a year since that prom night and he expected it by now, but it still got on his nerves. He was up on a rooftop hidden by a giant department store sign—you'd think that'd be one place where he could avoid goody-good ducks in purple capes and top hats. “Everywhere I go, there you are! Would it kill you to give me a little alone time?”

“No, but it would kill  _justice!_ ” Darkwing paused. “...That one could have been better,” he admitted.

“It's not like I'm trying to kill anybody! Um. This time.”

“It doesn't matter your offense—as you may have noticed, anywhere you go, villain, the forces of good will follow!”

“And smoke.”

“That too.” Darkwing leaned against the sign supports, crossing his arms. “So what evil deed are you committing this time, you nefarious ne'er-do-well?”

“And that's another thing,” Megavolt sniffed. “Why do you just assume I'm breaking the law?” He was. But that wasn't the point.

“Because your blackened soul has already been corrupted by the foul criminal underbelly of this dark city, and you know nothing but your cruel law-eschewing ways. Plus I saw you unscrewing them.”

“Well, you can't blame me for wanting to help when I've been hearing, you know, these voices from these little lightbulbs, and I thought, maybe I should listen to them! They're telling me they oughta be free, and who cares if they aren't technicallymy property...”

“Yeah, yeah, that's what you said last time. I think you're going off the deep end, Megavolt. But the end result is the same: hands up so I can escort you to the police, and hopefully a good therapist.”

“I don't think so, Darkwing!” said Megavolt. He jumped at him, his hands blazing with electricity. Darkwing stepped to the side, and Megavolt hit the supports face first.

“Face it, fiend. There is nothing you can do that I, the mighty Darkwing Duck, terror that flaps in the night, cannot predict.”

“Is that so?” Megavolt heaved himself to his feet, rubbing his nose. Suddenly he shot the same hand out and lightning scorched where Darkwing had been standing just a second before.

“It is,” Darkwing bragged. He stepped closer, narrowly missing another blast. He was on a roll today.

“Oh yeah? Um... well... well—predict  _this!_ ” Megavolt lunged without really thinking, yanking the hero forward by his bowtie and planting a kiss on his beak. Darkwing's body stiffened with electricity. When Megavolt broke away triumphantly, he stood there with sparks arcing through his feathers, dazed.

“Ow,” he squeaked, and fell forward.

“Ha!” said Megavolt. “Beat you  _this_ time, Darkwing!” He turned on his heel and ran off, hollering a cheer. Turns out winning felt great. He was so giddy he didn't even notice the loot was still sitting next to the sign, abandoned.


	9. In the Wild (Darkwing/Launchpad)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darkwing liked the wilderness, he swore.

Darkwing liked the wilderness, he swore. Of course he did. He was a man. All real men loved the natural world. It was their roots, where the came from, a sign of simpler, manlier, more dangerous times. Darkwing, being both manly and dangerous, was all for the outdoors. Honest.

He certainly wasn't wondering why SHUSH had given him an assignment in the most backwoods middle-of-nowhere place they could find. He was glad of it. He _enjoyed_ this dirty godforsaken piece of—er, that is, this “untouched paradise”. He definitely wasn't already pining for the city. After all, it had only been an  _eternity_ since they got here. Launchpad claimed it was only a few hours.

He made a mental note never to try to convince Gosalyn to go camping again. Every time he went to explore the wilderness, it was only once he got there that he remembered he hated it.

Except he  _didn't_  hate it, he told himself. It wasn't that it was needlessly exhausting and painful when there were far easier ways to do things, it was good-old-fashioned hard work. Exhilarating. It wasn't that they inexplicably eschewed modern technology when it was possible to use it even here, it was that they were simpler and homespun. It wasn't annoying and obtuse, it was refreshing.

And he definitely didn't wish this supervillain had chosen to operate in a metropolis like everyone else. Not at all. It was wonderful to be out of that modernized prison of paved roads, telephone lines, roofs, and electricity. Though he did think it would have been helpful if the forest weren't too dense for the Ratcatcher. Not for himself, you understand. Darkwing Duck didn't need modern conveniences. It was just for Launchpad's sake, is all.

He was fine with the endless walking and the tree branches constantly getting caught on his cape. He was all right with the mud and mosquitoes and the likelihood of bears. The poisonous plants and animals were a-okay. He didn't even mind that it was impossible for him to tell where he was being led. Really—so if that SHUSH guide called him “city boy”  _one_  more time, someone was going to get hurt.

“You doin' alright, city boy? You're lagging behind.”

He didn't call Launchpad that. “I am not lagging, I'm guarding the rear.”

The guide laughed. He was a big dog in a heavy jacket and jeans. He looked more like a lumberjack than a spy and had pegged Darkwing for the city slicker he was the moment he saw him, but he knew what he was doing. Darkwing wouldn't have nearly as much of a problem with him if he would justdrop the  _city boy_ thing.

Darkwing lagged even further behind, this time on purpose. He didn't want to talk Agent Great Outdoorsman right now, because he was avoiding admitting that he was right. He  _was_  urban born and bred, but that didn't have to mean he couldn't survive in the wild. It irritated him that he was having trouble with this.

Launchpad, of course, slowed down to walk beside Darkwing. His loyalty was touching, but it would be nice if sometimes he could be left to sulk in peace.

Especially, he had to admit, since Launchpad didn't seem to be having any problems at all. It didn't make sense. Launchpad's hometown of Duckburg was smaller than St. Canard, yes, but that didn't make him any less of an urbanite than Darkwing was.

“You look tired. Are you sure falling into that hole didn't...”

“Ha! A mere stumble. You underestimate Darkwing Duck, LP.”

“Okay, but, uh, what about all the brambles you got caught in, or the tree that almost fell on—”

“Yes! I'm sure. Enough—We're after an evildoer, Launchpad! We have more important things to worry about.”

“Sure, DW.” Launchpad shrugged, idly putting his arms behind his head. Darkwing glanced up and noticed the few patches of sky visible between the trees were tinted with the pink of sunset. He was glad it was almost night. Woods or not, he was better at working at night than anyone.

“Well, as you boys can see, it'll be getting dark soon,” the SHUSH agent called back, pausing and turning to face them. “It's not safe to walk in these woods at night.”

“Thanks for the rustic update,” Darkwing scoffed. “What, are ghosts going to get us? Let me guess: a vengeful bride? Maybe she teamed up with the Jersey Devil.”

“The only thing getting us'll be the booby traps hidden a mile or two from here, and I'd rather have the Flying Dutchman than a minefield.”

“So what? That means we're getting close! We can't stop now!”

“We can if we don't want to get killed.”

“Are you kidding? Because of a little dark? The name is  _Dark_ wing Duck for a reason, pal. If we approach at night, we won't be seen.”

“Yeah? You think you'll be able to see infrared lasers and trip wires any better than they'll see us, city boy? There aren't streetlights here, kid.”

Again with the city card. Darkwing gritted his teeth, trying to keep from sniping—or at least, more than usual. “We're losing valuable time,  _old man._ The longer we wait, the longer F.O.W.L. has to prepare their newest superweapon!”

“We make up the time we lose with not dying. You're only freelancing for SHUSH—I outrank you, so next clearing we're stopping.” The agent started off again, leaving Darkwing fuming behind. “Besides, you look like you need some sleep, boy,” he added, over his shoulder. “You're too high strung.”

“Can you believe this guy?” Darkwing hissed under his breath. “Like a few glorified mousetraps will stop Darkwing Duck in his element.”

“I dunno—I think he has a point. Darkwing Duck may be the terror that flaps in the  _night,_ but he's usually doing the flapping in St. Canard.”

Darkwing glared at him. “Sure, take his side.”

Launchpad laughed. “Aw, come on, DW. You know you'll stop F.O.W.L.'s scheme. You'll just have to wait 'till tomorrow.”

Things decided to get worse from there. Through a series of not-so-hilarious incidents that Darkwing didn't want to dwell on, his tent ended up at the bottom of the clearing's lake. Refusing to ask the old dog for help, he slumped against a tree at the wood's edge, his arms crossed and his hat pulled down over his eyes in a huff.

“I guess the Junior Woodchuck lessons never sunk in,” he said, knowing Launchpad was there without having to look. It was long time ago, but Darkwing doubted the merit badges he'd managed to get had been the ones to do with camping.

“Ah well.” Launchpad was a troop leader and it had been his tent too, but he didn't say anything else about it. “I guess we're sleeping under the stars, huh?”

“See, this is why we invented civilization,” Darkwing groused. “To get past sleeping on rocks and waking up smelling like grass and dirt.”

The sidekick laughed and settled next to him against the tree, smiling in that way he had. It always seemed to warm even Drake's mood. It reminded him vaguely of putting ice beneath a sun lamp.

They sat in quiet long enough that Darkwing assumed Launchpad was asleep. He felt his own eyes getting heavy, and it was not without annoyance that he realized he  _was_ tired. That made the other two right, but he couldn't find the energy for indignation. He felt so warm, and the tree seemed to have gotten much more comfortable somehow...

“Next time we'll take the Thunderquack, no matter what SHUSH says, alright?”

“Huh?” Darkwing started, his eyes opening, and he realized all of a sudden that it was Launchpad he was leaning against. That was embarrassing, but he couldn't seem to muster up the desire to move. He did turn to look at him, though, which just brought the side of his face against Launchpad's chest. He moved slightly away then. “Er, that'd be better. I still don't understand how it was a security breach. Not when you're piloting—except for the landing, maybe.”

The pilot was looking up at the sky, then moved to grin at the compliment. “Hey, thanks! Uh, sort of.”

Darkwing followed his lead and glanced above them. He felt overwhelmed by the encroaching sleep and the warmth of his sidekick next to him and now the endless, endless stars, dotting the blackness of the night. He wondered what it would be there in the Thunderquack, flying in them with Launchpad. “It'd be easier that way,” he said.

“Yeah. I think so too, DW.” Launchpad readjusted himself against the tree, the way he shifted his weight moving Darkwing closer to him, his head ending up back against Launchpad's chest. Neither one tried to move this time.

There weren't skies like this in the city, Darkwing had to admit, while he felt Launchpad's hand fall on his shoulder. Momentarily he wondered if it was on purpose, but left the thought alone to decide that this was the one thing he preferred about the Great Outdoors.


	10. Drakey (Gen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the school bell rang, Drakey Mallard made the mistake of letting bullies find him with no teachers around, again.

After the school bell rang, Drakey Mallard made the mistake of letting bullies find him with no teachers around, again. They made him give them all his money, again, and told him to do their homework tonight—again—and when he wouldn't, they beat him up, again. Then they grabbed him and threw him into a broom closet, laughing and mocking him the whole time, and leaned a heavy chair against the door so he couldn't get out. Again.

For awhile Drakey banged at the door and called for help, but eventually his throat started to feel scratchy and he gave up, vexed. He knew someone would find him sooner or later either way. Out of routine he climbed up on an upturned bucket and got his detective story down from the lowest shelf, where the janitor let him keep a book so he'd have something to do when things like this happened.

He didn't want to read right now, but he sat on the bucket and tried, doing his best to ignore the tears he could feel welling up. He wasn't weird. He wasn't a dweeb and a loser and sissy, no matter what they said.

Anyway, nobody cares what they think, he told himself, swiping at his eyes with a fist. They're just stupid and mean and wrong.

_They_ were the weird ones. It was only that he was smarter than all of them, because it wasn't like it was hard. Smarter and stronger and better in every way, or at least he was going to be. Alright, they might be _stronger_ now, maybe. But they wouldn't be when they were grown, and Drakey knew being a kid was just preparing for being an adult.

That was why all the best books and movies were about adults doing adult things that kids couldn't do. Basically, being a kid should be gotten over with as soon as possible. Drakey knew that, so he didn't like those books about kid detectives or kid superheroes solving real grown-up crimes. He didn't think they could ever be possible, or he'd be doing it already. The only ones he could believe were the stupid ones for girls, because babysitting was boring enough to be plausible.

No, he looked up to  _real_ heroes, like Basil of Baker Street or Superpig. Well—technically they weren't real, but they could be. That was the point. He could be like them, solving crimes and stopping villains and being a hero. In fact, he was going to be.

Yeah. Someday he'd be a hero, then they really wouldn't matter. Everyone would love him and cheer for him and no one would ever call him weird, ever, because that would basically be insulting the savior of the universe. They were going to write books about him too so he would be remembered a thousand million years from now as the greatest hero of his age, and not someone who got beaten up and locked in broom closets because some dumb kid who nobody will care about because they are a nothing in the grand scheme of things  _anyway_ wanted his lunch money and thought it would be funny when it wasn't.

Drakey had his priorities straight.

He knew what he was going to do when they were all too dumb, so he would be ready when it mattered. Someday when he was old enough and big enough they were all going to be jealous of him, because he was going to be a great detective or something and they would all still be bullying people like babies. But then Drakeywould be pushing them,and he'd be pushing theminto _jail_ because beating people up and stealing their money and locking them into broom closets when they have very important things to do is a _crime_  in the adult world.

He'd stop more of the important criminals, though. Supervillains who want to take over the world and crazy people who just want to destroy it. Serial killers too. Bankrobbers and embezzlers and corrupt corporate executives, even though he didn't really know what the last two were. All the kind of bad guys he's heard about in newspapers and novels and movies and comic books, and he was going to stop them all. That was why everybody was going to love him, of course. He didn't expect to be publicly adored and fawned over by every single solitary living creature he came across without  _earning_ it.

Then when his dumb criminal classmates looked out from their jail cell and saw him on TV for saving the city the fiftieth time that morning, they'd finally realize, “hey, that's Drake Mallard! I should have been nicer to him in elementary school and not have taken his money when he was probably going to use it for something neat like buying a  _Basil of Baker Street_ collection that he had been saving up for and not knocked him down and called him a freaky nerd when he said so! If only I had prepared for the future like he had, I would be an upstanding citizen and not be a stupid dumb criminal like I am now!”

They would probably say something like that.

Even if they didn't because they were so stupid, it didn't even matter.  _They_  didn't matter. He was going to help people and stop villains. He wasn't going to be small and useless and picked on. Hewould be exalted and applauded, and he was going to be a real hero

Someday he would be.

Right now, he was just tired and frustrated and could still feel the hot tears fighting to squeeze out of his eyes. He wiped them off on his arm, sniffing and hunching against the wall. Tomorrow he would start getting ready. Next time the bullies tried anything, he was going to fight back.

He wondered if it would work. He didn't really think so, but it would probably make him feel better, if they were going to be beat him up either way.

It was a start. And by the way, if anyone came and found him soon, he wasn't actually crying. Heroes didn't cry, and neither did Drake Mallard.

He'd have to convince himself of that, too.


	11. Why (Darkwing/Launchpad)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why didn't Launchpad ever get it?

Why didn't Launchpad ever get it? How much did it take to penetrate that flight cap of his and get through his skull? Why did it take beating him over the head with the truth to make him realize things were going _wrong?_

Darkwing wasn't like that. He knew the score. You couldn't always be optimistic,which Launchpad didn't seem to get. Bad things happened. Sometimes there wasn't a silver lining. It didn't take a flapping terror to see that.

But Launchpad couldn't, apparently. As usual. Darkwing didn't get him. How could he stay so upbeat one hundred percent of the time, no matter how grim things got? How could he  _always_ manage tohave so much faith in him when he didn't have any in himself?

_Hey, you can do it, right, DW?_

Oh, sure. If _he_  was who they were depending on, then they might as well kill themselves now. Darkwing may not have considered himself much of a hero right then, but Launchpad was definitely putting in an award-winning performance as the  _sidekick._

No one could have ever mistaken Darkwing for a mere sidekick, at least. His entrances and constant hyperbole and determined, energetic demeanor made it hard to do so. What worried him was that if you took those things away, he wasn't sure that would still be true. The people of Oilrabia certainly didn't have any trouble believing Launchpad was the hero in the partnership.

That... had bothered him. A lot. It wasn't that he didn't believe Launchpad could  _do_ it... it was that he didn't want...  _other_ people to believe it. Well, no... not that either. He wasn't entirely sure what he had wanted. To be right, mostly. But... it was just...

He couldn't understand it. Goofy, crash-crazy Launchpad, of whose role no one even _questioned_ the veracity. And Darkwing Duck, his funny little overdressed friend with his clever little wisecracks and silly little pratfalls, who needed to be  _saved_ by big strong Certified Hero Launchpad McQuack—well, of _course_  he was the sidekick. It would be silly to think  _he_ could be the hero.

It just got on his nerves a little, that was all.

Sure, Launchpad was bigger, but he was just tall. Lots of other superheroes had sidekicks taller than them. He... couldn't think of any right now, but they existed, certainly. Even if there weren't, look at Launchpad's personality! Physical characteristics aside, how could anyone assume he was the hero here? He was  _Launchpad!_ He was silly, cheerful, fun... he didn't even  _try_ to be heroic. Why was it that Darkwing had to work so hard to be taken seriously when Launchpad could do it without any apparent effort?

The answer wasn't a mystery: Because he just  _was_  heroic. He didn't need to try. He was strong and handsome, yes, but more so he was brave, and kind, and admirable, and so very, very likeable.

People  _liked_ Launchpad. He was  _good_ with them. They wanted to be saved by someone like Launchpad McQuack. Darkwing had none of that. If Launchpad really had been the hero, St. Canard would have been completely behind him within a day. Loved. Adored. Not hated and unrecognized like Darkwing was...

So what? He liked people, too. Well... he liked the  _idea_ of them, anyway, particularly that of great gatherings of them cheering out his name. Obviously he thought they were worth protecting, or he wouldn't do this for a living. But actual, physical people... he realized he couldn't stand them. He hated crowds, at least when they weren't celebrating him. He hated having to socialize. He just couldn't seem to connectwith others, and he'd never really wanted to, either. So he never had. He thought back through his life and tried to come up with a single person he could honestly call a “friend”—and he couldn't. He came up blank. Before Gosalyn, there was no one he'd ever really cared about.

Before Launchpad, too.

Ugh. So that was it: Launchpad was just so stupidly nice that he managed to break through even Darkwing's fortified shell. He'd think it was all part of some cunning plot if he didn't know Launchpad too well for that. He wasn't too dumb to do it, no, despite all outside appearances. He was just too nice. Because Launchpad was a good person, as simple as that.

That was why Darkwing had let Launchpad take the credit, after all—why he'd let an entire country think he was just the chirpy little sidekick and Launchpad was the shrewd leader. Because Launchpad  _deserved_ it. He was a hero. Darkwing knew that, and he believed it, too. The reason he had trouble admitting it was because he could handle Launchpad the Sidekick. Next to Launchpad the Hero, he felt so... insubstantial.

Launchpad was strong and happy and stable and loved and listened to.  _He_ was slight and overwrought and erratic and feared and ignored. Launchpad was everything Darkwing had ever wanted to be, more than he ever could be. All he could hold onto was that Darkwing Duck was the  _hero,_ and Launchpad wasn't.

And that wasn't true, either. Launchpad was a hero. There was no “the”. It would be reassuring, if Darkwing weren't already so unsure that he himself was any kind of hero at all.

But... that didn't really have anything to do with Launchpad, did it? If anything, he was reassuring. Once again, as always. That strength and steadiness and cheerfulness and kindness weren't bad things, and Darkwing had to admit they helped. He couldn't hate the pilot for them because, to be honest, he loved those parts as much as anyone. Possibly more. For all that Darkwing wasn't and Launchpad was, it was undeniable that he  _was_ his best friend.

He was always there. Launchpad was always standing by, ready to help, to be leaned on, always bright, always steady, always waiting when he needed him. Maybe Darkwing had to let him be right, maybe he had to prove that they could get out of this if only because Launchpad believed it to be so. He did owe him. Because of Launchpad, for the first time in his life, Darkwing wasn't entirely alone.

He thought, perhaps, that might have been the most heroic thing about Launchpad of all.


	12. Little Things (Darkwing/Launchpad)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Launchpad looked over to his friend, who was gripping the day's newspaper in his hands, so tightly he looked like he was about to tear it.

“What is this?! Where am  _I?_ Where's Darkwing Duck?” Drake Mallard fumed, gesturing wildly to illustrate his anger. “It's an outrage—They didn't even bother to getmy side of the story! How can they publish this? Whatever happened to checking your facts?!”

Launchpad looked over to his friend, who was gripping the day's newspaper in his hands, so tightly he looked like he was about to tear it. He hadn't even gotten very far from front door before rage rooted him to the spot.

“What is it, DW?” Launchpad asked, getting up from the couch to stand behind him, trying to read it over his shoulder.

“ _This_ sorry excuse for journalism!” Drake snapped, shoving it at his sidekick without letting the paper go. It was an article about Gizmoduck's triumph over a local bank robber.

“Um... what's the problem, DW?”

“The  _problem_ is that  _I_ didn't get a single mention! I was there too!  _I'm_ the one who stopped that crook, not that egocentric overgrown appliance! Sure, he was there,I guess, but I did all the real work! But does the media mention the city's very own resident crimefighter? Nooo, all they care about is the great and mighty Gizmoduck!”

He was going to go on like this for awhile if someone didn't stop him. He might even burn himself out, and Launchpad hated it when that happened. It was frightening when he wasn't acting like, well, Darkwing.

He reached down and gently pried the paper from Drake's hands. “Forget about that, DW. It's almost time to leave anyway—let's go show them who the real hero of St. Canard is.”

Drake glanced down at his hands for a second, wondering why Launchpad took the paper, then perked up with determination. “You're right, Launchpad. Who cares about that mere collection of cage liner says? Only of use for an incredibly biased hamster, I might add, but what matters is that Darkwing Duck is on the prowl no matter what—for though some of its residents may not realize it, his city needs his protection from the ever-looming hand of crime...” He continued narrating dramatically as he dashed to the chairs, his excitement obvious and completely restored.

Another crisis averted. Launchpad smiled and followed him, making sure to toss the paper into the trash on the way.


	13. Sleepless (Darkwing/Launchpad)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Darkwing Duck never rests while evil is on the prowl!”

“Sleep?! What are you saying, Launchpad?” Darkwing was shouting, gripping his sidekick's shirt with a frantic energy. “I can't waste time on such useless trivialities as sleep so long as those felonious fiends are running loose about the city! Darkwing Duck  _never_ rests while evil is on the prowl!”

His eyes were wide and vaguely wild, the bags under them more pronounced than usual. He released his shaking grip on Launchpad's clothing and whirled back to face the computer, continuing to type furiously.

“What about Gosalyn?”

“If you recall, Gosalyn is camping with the Muddlefoots,” Darkwing responded without turning from the screen. “So—though I do weep for my daughter's confinement with the likes of Herb and Binky, miles away from any possible escape—she wanted to go, and now my undivided attention may go to the case.”

“I meant when she got back. She'll get worried if you—”

“Ah, but you see, Launchpad, your point is entirely moot, for by the time that camper pulls into the Muddlefoots' driveway, Negaduck will already be in jail, able to do naught but wonder how I saw through his diabolical scheme!”

Apparently, to Darkwing, “undivided attention” meant no stopping to sleep or eat. He was too tightly-wound on the best of days, but when he refused to sleep it got to frightening levels. It didn't matter to him, though. Darkwing didn't allow leewaywhen it came to fighting crime—He  _had_ to stop the villain. There was no question about it.

It was obsession, plain and simple. Launchpad had always known DW was obsessed with his work. After all, it was hard to miss. Only one thing came before crimefighting, and that was Gosalyn. If she needed something or he thought she did, he'd drop everything, but that was the only time. Anything else could wait,in his opinion.

Including her concern for  _him._  Or Launchpad's.

That concern on their part was necessary, for Darkwing refused to spare any for himself. Stopping the crime got all his worries. It was more important—more so than any injury or ailment, more so than food or drink, far more so than rest or relaxation.

Now, for example. Yesterday morning, after they got back home fresh off of a string of ineffective fights with Negaduck that continued from the previous night, Launchpad had gone to bed. He assumed Darkwing had done the same, but when he got up he found Drake in the living room, his papers and books spread out around him, still wide awake. He hadn't slept at all, and still hadn't even now, hours later. He'd hardly even moved, save to rush to Darkwing Tower to use the computer.

And there they were now, in the middle of the next night. It was when Launchpad suddenly realized Drake hadn't gone to bed the previous day, either, that he tried to suggest the hero maybe take a nap, but he'd been rebuffed without a second thought. He was left sitting in a chair watching Darkwing stare transfixed at a computer screen, his fingers flying across the keyboard like some mad composer at his piano.

He hadn't even bothered to change his clothes to go home or go to the Tower—he remained half-dressed, his mask, hat, and cape off, his coat unbuttoned, but still wearing his costume jacket and shirt. The losses the last two nights probably had a good deal to do with his determination this time. He  _had_ to figure out where his evil double was going to strike next. He  _had_ to find the villainand put a stop to his operation. He hadn't succeeded yet, but he wouldn't rest until he did, and Darkwing took that quite literally.

Launchpad didn't feel the same. Drake had been up for almost three days at this point, and just thinking about it made Launchpad feel tired. The graceful, manic movement of the hero's hands became almost mesmerizing, the  _clack-clack_ of typing and the murmur of his voice as he mumbled to himself blurred together, and before he knew it Darkwing was standing on his chest and shaking him awake, shouting with half-crazed glee.

“ _Launchpad!_ Launchpad, wake up! I've got it--I've got it!” Launchpad blinked away the grogginess as Darkwing babbled on.“He's taken hold of a telecommerce agency! That's how he's getting into the targets without anyone knowing. He's distracting all the guards by calling them and convincing them to stay on hold! And he's building an elaborate hypno-ray—that'swhat the marbles and additives are for. He must have found plans somewhere. Why didn't I see it before? The memory foam and cappuccino ingredients—the forestry equipment and decorative statues—it's all so obvious! And all of this leads to the most logical hiding place for such an operation... the leading St. Canard wire copper producer! I have the address! Come on!” The hero yanked his scarf and jumped off of him, already running to the Ratcatcher. He was swaying slightly and he tripped several times, jumping back to his feet as if he hadn't noticed.

“Um, DW? How about we use the Thunderquack?” Launchpad didn't think his friend should be driving in that condition.

“Good idea, Launchpad. That'll be much faster. Come on!” Darkwing switched direction and dashed over to the plane, Launchpad running to keep up. Drake stopped when he saw his reflection in the window, realizing for the first time that he wasn't wearing his mask. He scurried around frantically looking for the strip of fabric, making his sidekick wait in the plane. When he returned he was wearing his mask and hat, but his jacket was still unbuttoned and his cape remained missing.

“DW?” asked Launchpad while Darkwing climbed in. “What about...?”

“What?!” demanded Darkwing, buckling in with difficulty from the shaking of his hands. “What is more important than catching a crook right now?”

“Um... Never mind, DW. Look, maybe you should wait to do this...”

“Preposterous! There's no reason at all we shouldn't go stop that scheming scofflaw. Now come on, take off, take off!”

Launchpad flew to the factory, Darkwing urging him to go faster the entire way. As soon as they were there the hero leaped out of the plane and bolted into the entrance without waiting for his sidekick. Inside, he went straight to a nondescript machine along the rusting assembly line.

“Aha!” he burst out. “Here it is, the only one not like others. Just as I suspected, one is slightly taller than all of the others. Now if I were just to press this button—yes!”

The machine jerked to the side with a metallic scrape, revealing a staircase. Darkwing watched with trembling hands clasped together in anticipation. Launchpad glanced at him worriedly, then was distracted by the spectacle.

“Wow, DW. How'd you know that would happen?”

“Simple, LP! You see, this was a former hideout of Dr. Slug, unknown to even the police, and until tonight even to the analytical genius of yours truly,” said Darkwing, actually explaining nothing, “And Negaduck has stolen some of the exact parts needed to restore this mechanism to working order! Now, come on, Launchpad, enough stalling—let's get  _dangerous._ ”

He started down the staircase enthusiastically, Launchpad at his heels. He was close enough that he could feel Darkwing shaking, from a combination of lack of sleep and too much excitement. He had to catch him a few times to keep him from falling down the stairs. Finally, they came to a door and Darkwing gestured for LP to stay quiet, pulling out a smoke bomb, glancing quizzically at his unbuttoned jacket while he did so. He started to ask about it, then realized he was supposed to be quiet and just threw open the door in a cloud of blue smoke.

“I am the terror that flaps in the night!” Launchpad heard Darkwing shout with even more fervor than usual. He could still feel his warmth at his front, but he couldn't see much except smoke. “I am the telemarketer that calls in the middle of the night! I am Darkwing Duck!”

 

 

A few hours later, on the plane ride back to the Tower, Launchpad went far slower. Darkwing leaned forward his chin resting on his crossed arms, his sleep-deprived energy completely gone. He kept blinking his eyes rapidly and trying to force them to stay open, scanning the horizon for any other criminals he might spot while they were out.

Darkwing gotten hurt quite a bit during the fight. He wasn't exactly at the top of his game, and Negaduck had taken advantage of it. He'd had a lot of other advantages as well—that of the home turf, superior weaponry, and, of course, of having had sleep at some point in the past two days. In the end, though, Darkwing Duck had emerged victorious and Negaduck had been arrested and carted away by the authorities.

All that was left was an exhausted, injured Darkwing slumped over the dashboard. He claimed his whole body was in pain—and the pilot could see why—but luckily, it was nothing truly serious. Still, now that the excitement was over and he had time to think, a part of Launchpad wished that Darkwing had waited to go into the fight. It was incredibly rash to rush into such a delicate situation in such a state, but then again, he hadn't been in the most stable frame of mind. Though he probably would have done so even if he were thinking straight

It was frustrating, and Launchpad was somewhat glad that Gosalyn hadn't been here to worry about him this time. It had turned out okay, but what if it hadn't? What if next time he'd gotten more than just hurt? Darkwing was never  _stable_ when it came to crimefighting.

Launchpad wondered if Negaduck ever got like this. He was Darkwing's evil counterpart, after all. Maybe he went without sleep for nights at on end planning out some magnificent crime, forgoing all of his needs until Darkwing's every move was plotted. Maybe he rushed into a heist even when every rational person would have screamed for him to give it a rest.

It was an interesting thought, but Launchpad didn't think so. Negaduck and his motivations were mostly foreign to him, but Launchpad doubted he had the same drive and determination as Darkwing. Few people did, which was probably a good thing, and a love of crime likely didn't require such an often self-destructive fixation as Darkwing's with justice.

Anyway, Negaduck wasn't really Darkwing's twin in everything. He was supposed to be the same in every way save alignment, but Darkwing didn't believe that, and Negaduck probably didn't either—the very idea of it made Darkwing genuinely angry. And part of what it meant was that Negaduck didn't do such compulsive and downright stupid things. That Nega-Launchpad and Nega-Gosalyn wouldn't have to argue with Negaduck that he shouldn't go commit crimes while he was sick, or injured, or messed up by some other villain's transforming raygun, or have to convince him to sleep and remind him to eat...

Then again, they probably wouldn't care enough to do so even if Negaduck did need it. From what Darkwing said, Nega-Launchpad was a violence-hungry brute. The thought of being like that, even if he hadn't seen his Negaverse counterpart himself, bothered Launchpad enough that he was starting to understand why Darkwing so hated being compared to Negaduck. Negaduck had the same cunning as Darkwing, the same looks and ego, but little else. He felt suddenly relieved that those two were from the Negaverse and not this world. He would hate for his partner to be different, regardless of how difficult he could be. He was especially glad he was regular Launchpad McQuack and not the Nega-version.

He couldn't imagine not  _caring_  about Darkwing, no matter how taxing it could be. Darkwing was reckless and too confident and he did stupid things, but that didn't change anything about Launchpad's devotion. That it bothered him when Darkwing  _was_ putting himself in danger just proved it more. As his sidekick, Launchpad was  _part_ of the work the other put so much into, but Darkwing put it even before his own well-being. That meant that  _someone_  in this partnership had to think about these things, and there was only one person left.

Darkwing mumbled something unintelligible, interrupting Launchpad's thoughts. “What was that, DW?” he asked, looking over to him, and saw that Darkwing's eyes were shut, his chest rising and falling visibly. Launchpad realized he had finally fallen asleep. The sidekick smiled slightly, taking one hand off of the steering wheel to push him back in his seat.

There was another problem fixed. It would happen again, of course, and something similar to it, many times. He would get hurt again. But... that was okay.

Darkwing's jacket was still unbuttoned and falling off his shoulders. Launchpad slipped it the rest of the way off, draping it over him like a blanket.

If Darkwing was as cunning as Negaduck, then he wasn't going to actually die from the rash things he did. And if, unlike Negaduck, he otherwise wouldn't take care of himself—well, then, it was a good thing Launchpad was there to. He was glad to be. After all, what else were sidekicks for, but to help the hero save the day?


	14. More Little Things (Darkwing/Launchpad)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Launchpad, are you sure we should up here?"

"Launchpad, are you sure we should up here?"

"Hey, no problemo, DW, it's safe enough to fly!"

"It's not the flying I'm worried about!" Darkwing yelped as another bolt forked through what seemed like just outside the window of the Thunderquack. Launchpad laughed, Darkwing glaring at him in return. Flying a tiny plane through a storm in the middle of the night didn't seem funny to him, and he told him as much. "Mortal danger isn't my idea of a good time, LP!"

"You're the one who wanted to go after Megavolt right away," Launchpad pointed out. "We'd fly above the storm, but we have to look for his hideout."

"Well, yeah, but..." Darkwing jumped again when the thunder kicked in. "Couldn't we have taken the Ratcatcher?"

"No can do," said Launchpad over it, "You crashed it last night and we haven't had time to fix it yet."

"Bushroot did that! He placed those trash cans there just so I'd swerve not to hit them, I'm sure of it!" Another bolt of lightning, another yelp. "This can't be safe!"

Launchpad swallowed another chuckle with difficulty. "Don't worry, DW."

"Worry? Who's worrying?! I'm merely expressing a certain level of disbelief in the sanity of my pilot!" Turbulence suddenly jerked the Thunderquack around violently, throwing Darkwing sideways into his sidekick. Launchpad was hardly fazed. "Okay, okay, I'm worrying!"

"We don't have to go after Megavolt tonight, DW..."

Darkwing stared at him in disbelief. "What are you saying? Of course we have to! Darkwing Duck won't let useless factors like the weather stop him in his neverending quest to purge the populace of such pernicious pollutions of persons such as—" He stopped short, thrown forward and then back into Launchpad as the plane began to toss again. "Of course, it's just like that electronic evildoer to choose a thunderstorm to host his illicit operation..."

Another crack of lightning, the thunder merely seconds behind, made Darkwing involuntarily grip Launchpad's arm in fear. "You sure you're okay?" the pilot asked, noticing that the grip tightened when another bolt spiked past the Thunderquack's bill.

"Don't be silly, I'm fine! Just look for Megavolt's hideout!" 

He didn't let go of Launchpad's arm the entire rest of the way there.


	15. Even More Little Things (Darkwing/Launchpad)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the ten-year reunion for the St. Canard High class of '82, two women were discussing a serious problem.

At the ten-year reunion for the St. Canard High class of '82, two women were discussing a serious problem.

“He must have been a football player or something,” one of them said. “Look at him!”

“Then wouldn't he be catching up with Ham and the rest of the team?” the other said doubtfully. “Maybe he only got good-looking after graduation.”

“Maybe... I just can't place him!”

The object of their debate was a tall, handsome duck in a brown suit, standing at the refreshment table and wolfing down hors d'oeuvres. He wore an aviator helmet and goggles over his shock of red hair, neither of which rung any familiar bells to the two.

The second woman steeled herself. “Let's ask him,” she said.

“Huh?”

“We're at a high school reunion. C'mon. Let's be girls again.”

She pulled her up to the muscular duck and introduced herself, nudging the other until she did the same. The man swallowed his food and gave a friendly smile.

“Launchpad McQuack! Pilot.”

“You'd think I would have remembered you,” the first woman said, putting on a sultry voice and batting her eyes coquettishly. He friend choked back a giggle. Well, they were in 'high school' again...

Launchpad remained oblivious. “Oh, I didn't go here!” he explained brightly. “I'm with someone else.”

“Oh.” The woman's face dropped. “Of course...”

“Who?” insisted her friend.

“My buddy Drake. Drake Mallard.” He gestured over to him, a skinny duck in a purple suit who was on his knees by a trashcan, intently examining the area around it. The woman blinked a few times, then recognition dawned on her.

“Drake the Dweeb?” she said incredulously.

“Um... sure?”

“With you?”

“...Yeah?”

“But—he—I mean, he never even filled out!”

“What?”

“Launchpad, Launchpad!” the duck himself interrupted excitedly, running up to the pilot. “I found a battery!”

“That's great, DW!” said Launchpad. “Uh... why is it great, exactly?”

“Because,” said Drake, “It's dry-cell, a smaller model of exactly the brand and make Megavolt was carrying last—” he stopped, noticing the women. “Ladies,” he said, nodding, then continued, “Megavolt was carrying the last time I—I mean, Darkwing Duck—erm... would you excuse us?” Drake gripped the bigger duck's arm, pulling him away. “Enough socializing, LP. We have work to do!”

The two women stared after them for a moment, then the friend shrugged. “He never was good with girls,” she said.

“Figures.” The other lady sighed before turning and starting to walk away. “How come it's always the cute ones?”


	16. Further Little Things (Darkwing/Launchpad)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darkwing wasn't good at emotions.

Darkwing wasn't good at emotions.

He felt too many of them and too strongly and he was never any good at expressing the right ones, so, outside of Gosalyn, he didn't usually try. It was a good thing that a caped crusader didn't  _need_ those sort of touchy-feely... things, because—well—that would have been a problem, wouldn't it?

There was one exception, however, that Darkwing was quite talented at getting across: Displeasure.

“It's absolutely abhorrent. It's freezing out here _,_ ” he was saying, dashing through the city of St. Canard on the Ratcatcher. Snow covered the sidewalks in great piles, the streets were danger zones of black ice, visible ice, ice of every kind; the air itself felt frozen, or at least frigid and difficult to breathe in. Darkwing's breath had a ghostly light to it beneath the passing streetlights, coming out quickly and with a puff of vapor for every increasingly annoyed word. “I hate snow. I hate the cold. Why can't supervillains save their outdoor capers for summer?”

“Well, DW,” said Launchpad from the sidecar next to him, “You'd be warmer if you stopped to get a new jacket like I said.”

Darkwing glared at him. Quickly, he turned his eyes back to the road, both to watch where he was going and to avoid looking enviously at Launchpad's thick coat and gloves. “There's no  _time_ for that. Quackerjack and Megavolt are out of prison, working together to set loose their new pack of vicious robotic hyper-hippos on an unsuspecting city, and any time spent  _not_ chasing them is time they can use to further the fulfillment of their fiendish felonious fantasies!”

“Eh, whatever you say, DW. I'm not the one whose coat got torn to shreds by robo-toys.”

Darkwing glowered. “Yeah, well... I  _could_ have taken them.”

“I know.”

“It was just that they had an... environmental advantage!”

“'Course they did.”

“And an, erm, element of surprise that I had not previously accounted for.”

“Yup.”

“They won't get away thistime,” he said confidently.

“I don't doubt it, DW.”

The wind picked up, whipping up Darkwing's cape and cutting through the fabric of his costume's jacket. “That is, if I don't  _freeze_ to death first!” he shouted at it, then hunched down in a huff.

He was silent for a few moments, until he came to a red light. “Oh, great,” he groaned, skidding the Ratcatcher to a halt. “I'm sure while I wait for this stupid light Quackerjack and Megavolt are already hauling away the loot from another robbery—And meanwhile, here I am, Darkwing Duck, the terror that flaps in the night, nearly frozen to hero-shaped block of ice sitting here doing _nothing!_ ”

Launchpad looked over to him, the smaller duck hugging his arms to his chest and shivering almost violently. He may have been wearing a jacket and a turtleneck already, but it clearly wasn't enough.

“Here, DW,” he said, taking off his lucky scarf. “It's not much, but hey, it's something, right?”

Darkwing turned to him, eyebrow raised. “Huh?”

“My scarf. Just, uh, don't get this one torn up.” Launchpad smiled.

“Oh, um... thanks, LP,” Darkwing said, taking it somewhat hesitantly. When he had it tied on, the light changed to green.

The scarf really wasn't a lot of protection, but as they once again picked up the chase—this time without complaining—Darkwing already felt warmer.


	17. Scrapbook (Darkwing/Launchpad)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Launchpad still kept his scrapbook.

Launchpad still kept his scrapbook.

In the time since he pasted the first single-paragraph article into it, the volume had grown considerably. That wasn't hard, since, in the beginning, it was so slim it could hardly even be called a “book.” Even “a short document” was pushing it. Nowadays it was comfortably in the range of “doorstopper.”

Being sidekick to its main subject was, naturally, a major factor in this change. It was much easier to collect newspaper clippings of someone you worked with, especially when the coworker in question went out of his way to find and memorize every single one. There was a reason Drake subscribed to every major newspaper in the city of St. Canard.

Launchpad hardly had to do any work at all, but he still did. While Drake was still asleep, sometimes he might skim through each newspaper himself, hoping for one of those rare days when Darkwing got lucky. Later he would go alone to the convenience store and buy his own copy, to keep for his scrapbook.

Launchpad's scrapbook was a fairly complete collection of Darkwing Duck in the printed media, but it paled in comparison to Drake's. His spawned public information of every kind, containing every article, every newsclip, every city newsletter ever containing any hint of the Masked Mallard's name. There was even a bookshelf dedicated entirely to its chronicles in Darkwing Tower. Of course, less than half a shelf of it was filled, but Darkwing was nothing if not optimistic.

Even among those, there were far more disapproving pieces than any other kind. Neutral articles were rare, complimentary next to nonexistent. Many were openly hostile. It was very clear in the Mallard household that these were to be ignored, not least because Darkwing was furious every time he found another one. He would seethe about the perceived factual errors, the decline of journalistic objectivity, the sheer  _nerve_ it took to publish such balderdash... Yet, even as he said these things, Drake still kept them. He blamed the writers and each time he marked them off as a single errant opinion, but he couldn't seem to bear to simply throw them away.

Launchpad didn't save those. He didn't see the point—This was _his_  scrapbook, and  _he_ knew Darkwing Duck was a hero. What did it matter what some letter-to-the-editor whose writer had never met him said?

As a result of this mindset, very little of the book's contents were official. That section was still twice the size of its original incarnation, but that didn't say much. No, the bulk of the collection was the other half, for Launchpad kept more than just newspaper clippings now.

It was mostly filled with photos—of Darkwing Duck both in costume and out, of Gosalyn, of 'family portraits,' birthday parties, Christmases, regular days. If someone were to ever find the book, it would make it very clear what Darkwing's secret identity was, but if someone were to look deep within the house at  _all_ it wouldn't be hard to figure out. Launchpad wanted to keep his collection up, and, well, it was supposed to be about Darkwing Duck, wasn't it? He was more than just a caped superhero to him now—He was his best friend. His new family.

It only made sense that his scrapbook would reflect that.

There was more to it than that, though. Launchpad loved both halves of Darkwing, even though they might as well have been a single identity for how different he acted. He was equally as happy going for pizza with Gosalyn and Drake as he was on patrol with Darkwing. He loved Gosalyn, too, and loved being part of their three-person family, and that half of his book was just as big as the half featuring crimefighting.

Most of the photographs in both were his own. He liked to save the moments with both the flashy hero and with the suburban dad. To Drake himself, the man was firmly Darkwing Duck, but Launchpad liked him no matter what name he was using. Either way, he was still “D.W.”


	18. High School (Darkwing/Launchpad)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hero with or without the mask, he reminded himself. Drake Mallard is just as good as Darkwing Duck.

“Well, at least I got it  _half_  right,” Drake Mallard mumbled sarcastically, picking himself up off of St. Canard High School's gymnasium floor. Hamilton String sped the process by grabbing his collar in mock-friendliness and yanking him back onto his feet. “Gee, thanks, Ham,” Drake scoffed, dusting off his purple suit jacket. He wished it was the  _right_  suit jacket, the one he wore nightly with a hat and a cape.You could bet they'd take Darkwing Duck seriously.

_Hero with or without the mask,_ he reminded himself.  _Drake Mallard is just as good as Darkwing Duck._

He'd just learned that lesson tonight, and already he was finding it hard to believe.

“Anything for an old high school, uh, 'pal.' Ha, anyway, man, don't beat yourself up too much for missing Darkwing Duck. Just like last time, right? Always the last to know, eh?”

“Oh, as always, Ham! Of course, it's a little hard to keep up on the news through a constantly  _tweaked beak._ ”

Ham laughed and tweaked it again, the point flying so far over his head it would have broken free of the gravity's pull. “Yeah, always a riot, Drake!”

“ _'Always a riot, Drake,'_ ” the aforementioned mimicked under his breath, once his bill had calmed to a state less reminiscent of the tectonic plates beneath them.

After Darkwing-slash-Drake's dazzling display of heroics, he, Launchpad, and Gosalyn had stopped to call the proper authorities to handle the rubber-cemented Megavolt and then hefted Ham and Preena Lott back to the high school. Much to Drake's surprise, the party appeared to have reconvened, despite the interruption.

The two of them snapped out of their trance during the ride back. Through careful prodding—that is, not-so-subtly asking them—Darkwing was able to determine that his hypnosis technique was successful and neither of them recalled the true identity of Darkwing Duck.

_Drake Mallard is not Darkwing Duck... Drake Mallard is not Darkwing Duck... but he is an all-around cool guy and you should never pick on him!_

Through extensive hands-on research back at the reunion, Drake Mallard was able to amend this observation to reflect that it was only  _partially_ successful.

“Anyway, thanks for the laugh, Dweebarooni, but everyone else here is just dyingto have my spin on the story. Not everybody gets up-close-and-personal with a supervillain and a superhero all in one night, y'know.”

With that, Ham slapped him on the back and onto the floor a final time, then waltzed off over to Preena's side, the group of remaining people currently hanging over her every word.

“It was the right half, it was the right half,” Drake told himself through gritted teeth.

Launchpad's hand was suddenly on his back and helping him to his feet, much more gently than Ham had. “You okay there, DW?”

“Don't pay attention to him, Dad,” Gosalyn added.

The concern in their voices grated on Drake. They didn't need to treat him like he was some fragile object that the slightest jar would shatter. ...Well, shatter again. But his confidence was  _back,_ alright? He told himself he was just imagining it.

“I'm fine.” He straightened his tie haughtily, fixing his gaze far above the faces of everyone in the room, including his sidekick and daughter. “Let's get out of here, LP. This is getting a little _too_  reminiscent of high school.”

 

On the ride home, Drake was quiet. Launchpad could tell he was seething, but the silence made him uneasy. Almost the moment they got there, the mallard told Gosalyn it was past her bedtime.

“Aw... but Dad—”

“No buts, little missy. It's almost two in the morning. _You_ weren't even supposed to come today, so you're lucky I let you stay up this long.”

“But I'm not even tired,” she protested. Launchpad thought it more likely that she was worried about Drake, but he didn't say so.

“Then  _get_  tired. Visualize something static, something completely unchanging. To relax yourself. Like a, uh, talk show or something.”

Gosalyn crossed her arms and scowled. Drake got down to her eye-level, putting his hand on her shoulder. “I love you,” he added, with a half-smile.

She looked at him for a moment, then clutched him in a hug. “G'night, Dad.”

“Good night, Gos.” He stood up, motioning for her to get going. She gave him one last hug and finally started up the stairs.

“'Night, Launchpad.”

“G'night,” Launchpad told her. When Gosalyn was upstairs he turned to watch Drake, who stood up, his smile faded. He leaned against the wall, his brow furrowed.

A long, uncomfortable—to Launchpad, at least—silence passed before he made a remark.

“Remind me not to go to the twenty-year reunion,” he said.

“Hey, what's up, DW?” the pilot said, trying to sound upbeat. “You're the hero of the day, remember?”

Drake ignored him. He straightened from the wall, starting off towards the blue chairs.

“Come on, Launchpad. I don't know, let's go do some crimefighting or _something._ ”

Launchpad scurried after him, dropping the chair with a big grin. Drake slouched in his.

His sidekick's grin sagged. “Well, DW? Aren't we gonna, y'know? ...Get dangerous?”

Drake shrugged, his expression still cloudy and distant. “Yeah, whatever. Let's just go,” he said, and unceremoniously hit the statue.

 

Darkwing Duck and sidekick flew above the city of St. Canard in the Thunderquack, on the lookout for any crime. At least, the sidekick was. Darkwing was leaning on his elbow, staring out the window and frowning. He didn't seem very alert, nothing like his usual almost dog-like exuberance.

It was distracting to Launchpad, and it bothered him.

“Are you sure you wanna go on patrol tonight, DW?” he asked, slowing the plane so he could give DW his attention. “You seem tired, or at least bored.”

“Darkwing Duck cannot leave the city unattended, even for one night,” Darkwing said, glancing half-heartedly at Launchpad and then back at the skyline. “Who knows what crimes could pop up without his watchful eye to keep them in place.”

The words were right, but his tone was off. He sounded distracted, almost hollow. Launchpad knew him well enough to tell that for once, Darkwing didn't mean it.

“You already stopped one crime. Maybe we should just go back home today.”

Darkwing didn't respond. Launchpad wondered if he even heard. He waited for what felt like a long time, merely stealing glances at the unnervingly listless hero as he flew. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore.

“DW, what's wrong?”

“Nothing. I don't know what you're talking about.”

Another long silence, until Launchpad gave up on DW speaking up on his own. He sped the plane up, jerking Darkwing forward and making him look up at him in surprise. “Launchpad, what was that all about?” he demanded.

“I don't believe you, DW.”

“What?”

Launchpad swerved the Thunderquack to the side, scanning the city below for a clear space. He landed on the roof of an empty warehouse, locking the doors and turning to look directly at his parter. “Something's wrong, no matter what you say. You're not acting like you. This isn't Darkwing, this isn't a crimefighter, and that means something has to be up. I don't know what. But I'm not flying this plane again until you tell me.”

“There's nothing wrong, except apparently with your head! What are you  _doing?_ ”

“I'm making you listen to me!” Launchpad insisted. “Is it Ham? Look, DW, you already proved that you're a hero. I don't get what the problem is. You're Darkwing Duck! You get dangerous, not mopey.”

“Who's mopey?  _I_ wasjust sitting here doing my job until  _you_ decided to play psychologist!”

Launchpad sighed, frustrated, running a hand through his hair. “DW...”

“Well? So maybe I'm a little quiet—that doesn't mean I'm having a mental breakdown!” Darkwing snapped, glaring at his sidekick. The two of them faced off for a few moments, until Launchpad broke the silence.

“DW... please.”

Darwing averted his gaze, glaring at the windows instead. He didn't say anything.

“You know something's wrong. Let me help you.”

Nothing.

“Please. As your friend.”

Darkwing froze.

His face contorted with inner conflict, his eyes widening and narrowing again, and then he sighed. “Fine.”

Launchpad felt a rush of relief. DW huddled in his seat, still avoiding his sidekick's eyes.

“I don't  _know_ what's wrong, Launchpad. Sorry if I'm acting like it. It's just... it...” He floundered for words, “It was like going back to high school, you know?”

Launchpad didn't know, not exactly, but he didn't say so. He didn't think Darkwing wanted a response.

“I... I exaggerated, if you haven't figured it out. No one respected me, definitely no one admired me. I wasn't cool, I was Drake the Dweeb. I never fit in, not once in my entire school career. I don't think I ever even had a real friend until I met you, Launchpad.”

That made Launchpad smile. But he hid it, leaning onto the dashboard closer to Darkwing's seat. “So, what's the big deal?” he said. “That was then, and you're a whole different person now.”

“No, I'm not,that's the problem!” Darkwing snapped with sudden vehemence. Launchpad stared at him, but the other didn't notice. “I'm still Drake the Dweeb, even now! I'll always be Drake the Dweeb. I'm always gonna be the wannabe loser, no matter what I call myself, because I'm still always going to be  _Drake Mallard._ ”

He expelled his breath in a huff, hunching forward and hugging his arms to his chest. There was disgust in his voice at the mention of his own name.

Launchpad swallowed. He tried to think of something. “Well... what's wrong with Drake Mallard?”

“What  _isn't_ wrong with him?” Drake sneered. Then he was quiet, taking off his hat and twisting it in his hands.

It was times like this that Launchpad thought Darkwing looked so absurdly small. They were those moments when all the blue smoke and bluster fell away and he was just a scrawny duck in an overdone costume. They were rare. They were very revealing. Few other people saw them.

And Launchpad hated them. He hated them, despised them, and somehow they always managed to take him by surprise.

It scared him to see Darkwing like this. It was so much harder to believe in Darkwing Duck when he didn't believe in himself, and if you believe in him then it became even harder to have faith that Darkwing Duck was going to  _live._  He fought supervillains, people with powers, with weapons, who weren't afraid to use lethal force and who some guy in a purple mask wasn't going to do much good against. It scared Launchpad to think like that. To think of  _losing_ him like that. It seemed so... so simple.

Normally, Drake's confidence and enthusiasm were so easy to get caught up in that he knew that wouldn't happen. Darkwing's energy and determination were so simple to take as your own, so wonderful to watch and satisfying to buy into that when they were disappeared you  _noticed,_ and they left a hole as big as Audubon Bay.

Right now, Launchpad was definitely noticing it.

“Honestly,” Darkwing said finally, staring down at the hat in his hands, “I think that was one of the greatest moments of my whole life—putting on that mask, and for the very first time... not having to be, well,  _me._ ”

“DW—Drake...” Launchpad tried to break in, to help, but Darkwing continued unabated.

“Darkwing Duck was the greatest. Everyone looked up to him. He could do anything, he could do it with style. He was the terror that flapped in the night, not just the kid with more detective novels than friends. He was a hero. It was so much greater than being Drake.”

He released part of the hat, putting the freed hand his it to his face, maybe to hide his expression. “I had to be someone else because no one was going to take me seriously. I had to be Darkwing Duck because Drake Mallard was nothing but a loser. But putting on a mask doesn't make me a different person—it just makes me the same person in a stupid costume. Sometimes I win. That doesn't make me less of a loser.”

Darkwing was cringing, but Launchpad seized the silence.

“Yeah, it does, DW, right there in the name,” he said. “But you're right. If Drake Mallard and Darkwing Duck are one person, all that does is make both of them the same thing.”

Drake's shoulder's slumped. “See, that's exactly...”

Launchpad rested his hand on his shoulder, making him stop. “A hero.”

Darkwing looked up at him, for once not trying to hide anything, for once dropping the pretense of mystery. All he did was stare up at his friend.

“Launchpad...” he tried to say, then trailed off.

“Besides, I like Drake Mallard.” Launchpad ran his hand over DW's feathers, taking the hat from his hands and plopping it on his head. “Okay?”

Darkwing nodded and tried to suppress a smile, fixing the brim of his hat and pulling it low over his face. He clenched his fists and sat up straight, alert for the criminal element that infect the city. “Alright, Launchpad. Let's get dangerous.”


	19. Watching Out (Darkwing/Launchpad)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It took a lot of effort to get back from Taurus Bulba's old hideout.

It took a lot of effort to get back from Taurus Bulba's old hideout. For awhile, simple logistics took precedent over worry.

First of all, Darkwing had to be moved back into the Thunderquack, followed by the long ride back to Darkwing Tower. Then Launchpad took Honker home, with apologies for getting him into this mess and bearing made up explanations for Binkie, while Gosalyn insisted on staying with Darkwing, who hadn't the energy nor desire to argue. Upon his return, Lauchpad found another wheelchair somewhere amidst all of Darkwing's crime-fighting gadgets, then went about the business of securing Darkwing Tower.

Darkwing hadn't the slightest idea where the second chair had come from, but he blithely accepted the convenience of it. After miraculously convincing Gosalyn to go lay down where it was dry—the only explanation could be that she was truly worn out after the whole ordeal—he moved to his self-appointed post on the outside of the tower.

Of course, the weather had escalated from a slight drizzle into a rainstorm by the time they got back. Whether it was a coincidence or a direct result of their cloud seeding Darkwing didn't know, but what it meant was, he was sitting outside a thousand feet over Audubon Bay in a wheelchair during the middle of the night in the pouring rain.

It was dangerous. It was uncomfortable. He was wet and freezing.

He still wasn't going to go inside.

Gosalyn was in there, asleep on the back seat of the Thunderquack. Taurus Bulba knew where this place was, he knew that Darkwing had taken it as his hideout, and he had kidnapped Gosalyn from here twice before, once this very day. It wasn't likely that he would return tonight—it was so soon after his last defeat, and, after all, a cyborgjust mightwant to avoid the rain—but that didn't really matter. As long as there was a possibility,  _someone_ had to be on the lookout for him.

It wasn't simple. His soaked hat kept alternatively flopping into his face and starting to fly off, the wind violently jerked his cape around, his sopping jacket added about ten pounds to his frame, and even with its debatable protection he still felt stiff with cold. He clung to the slick, wet wall, a mostly useless precaution to keep the wheelchair from rolling away. High wind and driving rain had stopped being helpful even before they'd started.

Using one hand to lift the hat's brim out of his eyes, his numbed fingers suddenly gave way and he lost his grip on the wall. After a brief, desperate scramble for a handhold, it was then that Darkwing glanced down and figured out the wheelchair had proper breaks.

“You'd think they'd try to make this thing a little more intuitive!” He glared down at the inanimate object, then crossed his arms sulkily, shifting to glowering in a more general sense. “If Bulba's got tocome after me, I hope he at least waits until I can walk again.”

Oh. Yes. Bulba. Darkwing swallowed, his annoyed expression dissolving into one of apprehension. Bulba, who was alive against all the odds. Who was superpowered and out for him.

And who'd already been stopped, right? Darkwing pulled a face, realizing that he was letting weakness show, and tried to look determined instead. “It's nothing,” he told himself.“Just another crook to take down.”

He didn't feel convinced.

“Who needs to worry about that overgrown tin cattle?” he asked thin air. “I'm Darkwing Duck! ...I mean... I... I'm not...” Darkwing forced himself to go into his narration, hoping to get his spirits back up. “Ever... yeah, ever vigilant, Darkwing Duck observes his city, poised for action should his enemy appear. Though circumstances conspire against him, Darkwing Duck alwayscomes out on top no matterhow the odds are stacked, for his adroit artistry in accomplishing amazing acts aptly asserts his—”

“Ah... DW?”

“...His aptitude...” Darkwing stopped mid-narration, flinching at the interruption. “What?” he said, twisting around to look behind him. “I'm kind of busy.”

Launchpad stood there in the doorway, smiling faintly. “Right. The, uh, whole tower's locked up, and the Thunderquack's all cleaned out. Gos is still asleep, and the sun's gonna rise in an hour or two.”

“Yeah, okay? So?”

“So, ya ready to go home?”

Darkwing turned back to the St. Canard skyline, once again pushing his hat from his eyes. “Not yet. I don't know where Taurus Bulba is, but I doubt he'll come out during the day. A hulking curiosity like him would be spotted instantly in the bright of day. We can leave then, so he can't follow us home. I mean, well... he can't follow us anyway, because the house's got a direct path to Darkwing Tower, but...”

“I thought you said he wouldn't follow us in the rain, too.”

“Well, no, but...”

“And he probably couldn't fly straight in this wind anyway.”

“Yeah, but...”

“And he'd need time to get himself ready before he tried anything again.”

“Yes,  _but..._ ”

“And you're out here so you'd see him first even if he did.”

“ _Yes! But!_ ” Darkwing managed to break in, now facing back towards his sidekick and gripping the back of the seat. “I did say all that, it's true, but what I'm saying  _now_ is, we're going to wait until daybreak to be absolutely completely totally  _positive_  that Bulba is not around when we leave! Okay?!”

The sidekick shrugged. “Okay.”

“Er... yeah?”

“Whenever you're ready, DW.” Launchpad leaned against the wall, stretching. Though he didn't seem bothered by the rain blowing his way, still he said, “Still, dontcha' think you should come inside? It's pretty wet out here.”

Darkwing laughed. “A little rain can't stop Darkwing Duck!” His hat flopped down into his eyes for the thousandth time.

“Okay, but... you're in a wheelchair, buddy. Won't it rust?”

“Even if it did, what would it matter? It's not like I'm going to need this thing for long.”

“You don't know that. What if something goes wrong again?”

“It  _won't._ Besides, the rain's why I can't see through the windows very well anyway. I need to have the best view possible, so Taurus Bulba can't sneak up on—”

“But you _know_ he's not gonna come now,” Launchpad interrupted, stepping forward from his semi-protected place in the doorway. “You can't stay out here forever, and you're gonna get hurt in wind like this.”

Darkwing stared up at his sidekick. His cape continued to whip around him as if to prove Launchpad's point, but he ignored it.“I'm being chased by the greatest criminal mastermind this side of Professor James Moriarty, reborn as a mechanical revenge-crazed monstrosity, and  _you're_  worried about the  _wind?_ ”

“Um, well... yeah.” Launchpad moved the rest of the way to stand next to his friend, pushing his hair out of his own face and resting a hand on the back of the chair. “You can't do anything to stop Taurus Bulba you kill yourself first,” he said.

“Yeah, but...” It irritated Darkwing how often he seemed to be saying that today. “I don't...”

“You gotta protect yourself, too, DW.” The space before Darkwing responded wasn't silent, filled with the howling of the wind and the harsh sounds of city traffic that it brought with it, but it might as well have been.

“I appreciate the thought, Launchpad, but that's not why I'm out here.”

Launchpad looked down at him, his scarf flailing about behind him. “I know that, DW, but Gosalyn's gonna be fine, as long as you trust her to—”

“Yes, yes, I know, that was the big lesson of the day, okay?” Darkwing snapped. He sounded exasperated, but something very much like worry was also creeping into his voice. “I'm  _going_ to trust her. I should've in the first place. But... That isn't going to stop Taurus Bulba altogether.” Darkwing moved his face away, his eyes stubbornly fixed on the outline of the city. “He knows how to use her to get to me now more than ever, and I'm notgoing to let him hurt her again. He's never been afraid to kill anyone, not even children. I don't want to think about how many times he's almost done it to her already...”

“But he didn't,” Launchpad said plainly. “You stopped him.”

“I know... I know I did, even though he got away. I know she's safe right now. But... I... ” His gaze dropped and the pilot didn't know where he was looking now. “What—what if I all I did was get  _lucky_ , Launchpad?” As he turned to his sidekick, this time he didn't succeed in hiding the worry and fear naked in his voice and face. He was hard to see in the darkness, blending into the night's shades of purple and indigo, but the light blue of his eyes held a kind of soft glow in the pale light. They were wide, frightened, almost pleading.

“Nah, that can't be it.” Launchpad strained to answer the need in those eyes. “It's happened twice now.”

“What does that prove? We both know I'd be dead if it weren't for luck...”

“Aw, that's not true. You—”

“I'd be dead a thousand times over! Look at him and look me—Honestly, look at  _you_ and look at me! If my cape hadn't caught on the bridge today, I'd have fallen into Audubon Bay and drowned. If his circuits hadn't overheated, he'd have teared me limb from limb. If he'd been able to stop before he fell off the cliff, I'd be dead by now. I mean, if the Ramrod hadn't exploded back before he came back, I wouldn't have even made it past our first real fight!”

“So he's bigger than you. What's the big deal? Hey, Darkwing Duck's never relied on brute strength before...”

“This isn't about brute strength! This isn't just about a one-on-one fight with him! Sure, he can kill me with his bare hands. But even if he couldn't, it wouldn't matter. He knows what to do to manipulate me. He could get me to do whatever he wanted. Walk off a cliff. Shoot myself with my own gun, if I had one. Beg and plead for mercy...”

“But... Darkwing—”

“Don't you understand?” Darkwing demanded, yanking Launchpad down to eye-level. He was shouting, enunciating every word. “He is going to go after Gosalyn! He's going to kill her, and there's nothing I can do about it!”

After a beat he broke off, dropping the scarf and moving back. “I—I'm sorry. I know you get it. I just—” He buried his head in his hands. “I... I can't protect her, Launchpad.”

“Sure you can, buddy,” Launchpad said. He touched his shoulder. “I still say you can beat him. You've always stopped the bad guys before. You'll always keep on doing it.” For once, Darkwing didn't reply, despite the obvious ego-boosting. This made Launchpad hesitate.

“...You know that, though—Right, DW?”

Another traffic-filled silence, this one heavier and more frightening to Launchpad than almost anything else today.

“I got  _lucky_ with Taurus Bulba,” Darkwing repeated, quieter this time. It bothered Launchpad to see him so downtrodden. Where had all the energy gone? Even when he was upset and despondent, Darkwing was overdramatic. But this... this was hardly the same person.

“I don't think I can beat him alone.”

Ah.Was that all.

“Well, we're fine then.” Launchpad grinned. “You're not alone.”

“Yeah? And who's gonna drop everything and rush to my aid, the National Guard?”

“Of course not. You've got me.”

A pause. Then a confused, “Oh.”

“Isn't that good enough?”

“O-of course, but—”

“Then okay! Don't worry.” The grin brightened, like a searchlight in the night. “I don't care if we're facing the meanest, strongest supervillain in the entire world—I'm always gonna be here for you, DW. No matter what.”

“...Thanks, LP.” Darkwing smiled weakly. Then he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I don't know if that's gonna be enough to stop Taurus Bulba.”

“Hey, we'll figure it out. We'll keep Gosalyn safe, DW.” They stood side-by-side, dripping wet and buffeted by the wind. Launchpad put his arm around his friend's shoulders and pressed him gently to his side. “I promise.”


End file.
